Gotcha
by cloudedleopard51
Summary: Mark, Steve, Jesse, and Amanda investigate a murder involving two teenagers. Can Steve and the gang stop the killer from turning the hospital into a scene of disaster? Reworking in progress.
1. A Troubled Girl

**Gotcha (Reworked)**

The pathology lab of Community General Hospital was never what one would call a warm or welcoming place. A corpse lay on a cold, steel table. The smell of disinfectant and formaldehyde was faint but unpleasant. Amanda Bentley, chief pathologist and county medical examiner, hummed a little tune despite her surroundings. She had only one autopsy scheduled for today: a Mr. Smithsone whose death was under investigation by th LAPD. As soon as she was finished, she would be free to go home and spend time with her two adorably energetic children. She even had the next day off and had decided to take the kids on a special excursion to the zoo.

Little did Amanda know that Jesse would have the day off too and ask to come along. Little did she know that Steve and Mark would take some time off work just so they could spend some quality time together as a big, makeshift family. And little did she know that the seemingly harmless trip to a fun, safe place like the Redwood Zoo would get them all involved in a long, dangerous murder scheme.

The following day, the entire group arrived as planned at the zoo. They were two hours later than they would have like to have been, in part because of CJ's insistence on pancakes for breakfast and in part because of Steve's insistence that getting directions from strangers when lost is unnecessary.

Upon entering the zoo and stopping for lunch at a poor-quality, overpriced restaurant, they only saw a few animals that weren't either asleep or off-exhibit. The entire experience was continually interrupted by either Jesse or one of the kids begging to use the restroom, to get a drink, to rest, to use the restroom again. Nevertheless they made their way around the relatively small zoo, admiring the animal exhibits, even the ones without visible animals. They were near the red kangaroos when the group spotted the same a couple of lanky teenagers holding a scary-looking reptiles.

CJ and Dion looked amazed when they saw the strange animals and were beside themselves with excitement when a girl, one of the zoo volunteers who couldn't have been older than 14, asked them if they wanted to pet an alligator.

"Oh wow!" squeaked CJ as he ran over to stare into the black, beady eyes of the reptile. "I've never touched a real, live allergator before! This is so cool!"

CJ and Dion and even Jesse stroked the dry, scaly skin for quite some time. Amanda stood ready and at a far distance with a convenient bottle of hand sanitizer. Mark and Steve opted out of touching the animals as well. The whole group almost managed to leave the area before an unfortunate event occurred that would cause them to become involved in the story of the two lanky teenagers holding the scary-looking reptiles.

Just as the kids and Jesse had finished rubbing their hands with the smelly alcohol sanitizer that Amanda had forced on them and were moving on to another region, a high-pitched shriek came from the area they were leaving. Everyone whipped around at the scream and was utterly shocked to find an enraged guest seemingly trying to strangle the teenage volunteer with the girl's own lanyard.

"You terrible, horrible young lady!" the guest bellowed, shaking the girl's head back in forth with the lanyard meant to display a name badge. "How you can treat a poor creature like that is beyond me! Why, that poor animal is being shown off like this is some kind of third rate circus! I'll have you know I won't stand for this!"

Instinctively, and after recovering from the shock of it all, Steve ran up and hurriedly identified himself with the LAPD, before firmly grabbing the hands of the guest who was choking the girl. The guest was a stout, very bossy-looking, and overbearing woman. She grudgingly let him separate the two and stormed off, but not before delivering a mighty kick to the teenager's ankle with a high heeled shoe.

Thus began a very chaotic chain of events. The girl let out a sharp yelp of pain and grabbed her left ankle in her hands, hopping up and down. The alligator fell out of her hands, looking terrified, and landed on the ground right-side-up. It remained perfectly still as if in shock before scurrying away as fast as its stubby legs could carry it. CJ and Dion bolted towards the alligator, laughing, trying to pick the poor creature up. Amanda, horrified, tried in vain to stop her kids from chasing the reptile lest they get bitten in the process. The other teenager, herself holding a lizard, ran off somewhere to get someone to help catch the alligator. Mark and Jesse went to make sure the girl was all right.

"Are you going to want to file charges?" Steve asked flatly after the commotion had died down and both reptiles were safely put away.

His question was answered with exasperated stares and an awkward silence.

"I've never seen that lady before," the teenage girl said, "and I never want to see her again. Just pretend it didn't happen."

After a quick examination, Mark concluded that the teenager's ankle was fine and advised her to stay off of it for a few says and to apply a cold compress.

The teenagers, identified as Katie and Rob by their volunteer name badges, left the group to finish their day at the park and the strange events were promptly put aside. Mark and the rest of the group had no clue that they would ever see the two teenagers again. They were wrong.

A few days later, Jesse's jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he saw the same two teenagers walking into the ER at two in the morning, clearly distressed, right after an unconscious woman on a gurney. Jesse put the teens out of his mind temporarily and ran up to meet the gurney.

"What've we got?" Jesse asked quickly.

the paramedics supplied the necessary information as he worked. "45 year old man, car crash victim. He's got severe head trauma and is in acute respiratory distress..."

The ER team disappeared behind the doors of Trauma 1 and reappeared less than half an hour later. Jesse emerged, his bright blue scrubs flecked with blood, his face grim, and his eyes dimmed with disappointment. He sighed and approached the only two people in the waiting room, the two zoo volunteers that Jesse had never expected to meet again.

Jesse cleared his throat to get their attention. "You came in with Mr. Valentine?" he prodded.

The girl looked up hopefully. The boy next to her squeezed her hand gently. "We're his stepchildren. How is he? He's all right, isn't he?"

Jesse glanced at the floor, loathing the task of delivering bad news to family members. He gathered up courage and looked the two square in the eye. "He didn't make it. I'm very sorry."

The girl broke down in uncontrollable sobs. The boy tried to comfort her, tears of his own pooling in his eyes. Jesse watched on sadly, unable to think of anything to say that would help the situation. After expressing his condolences, Jesse politely excused himself and left with the intention of going to talk with Mark.

"Doctor Travis!" a voice from Trauma 1 startled Jesse out of his thoughts. "You better come and look at this."

A pretty blond nurse held up a small note for Jesse to take. Glancing over it, Jesse's eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. "What have we gotten ourselves into?" Jesse groaned quietly.

The nurse took the piece of paper back and added helpfully, "We've already called the police to investigate. I just thought you would want to know."

Without even realizing what he was doing, Jesse grabbed the note back and walked as fast as possible to Mark's office, leaving a stunned and flustered nurse to stare after him. He reread the note as he walked, 'Next time, it'll be the young ones. Signed T.S.'

Jesse had the good fortune to run into Mark on the way upstairs. Without even greeting the older doctor, Jesse shoved the note in Mark's face.

"I think I've just found you and Steve a new murder case," Jesse said dryly.

Mark was understandably confused. Reading the note that was so rudely forced on him didn't make anything clearer. "What on earth are you talking about, Jesse?" Mark asked politely, shifting the patient files in his arm to a more comfortable position.

Jesse merely pointed his arm in the direction of the ER. "Go see for yourself. And call Steve." With that the two doctors headed back to the ER.

Upon hearing the story of the teenagers, Katie and Rob, Mark was disturbed. He began to doubt that the incident in the park was a coincidence. Somehow, he felt partly responsible for their predicament because he had witnessed the strange attack at the zoo and had not pursued the attacker as anything more than a radical animal rights' activist.

Concern, guilt, and curiosity led Mark to insist that the teenagers stay at his beach house for a while for protection, at least until their mother returned from some luxury cruise she had won in a contest. The teenagers insisted that Mark not tell their mother about her husband's death and thus cut short her vacation, mostly because they feared for her safety and figured she would be better off as far away form Los Angeles as possible.

A police investigation revealed a day later that Mr. Valentine's breaks had been tampered with, and a full-blown homicide investigation got underway.

Mark Sloan strolled down the corridors of Community General the same day, whistling a cheery tune. The halls were relatively empty, everything was quiet and peaceful. Mark passed by an open closet without really considering the oddity that someone would leave the door open to a storage room. With absolutely zero warning, he was grabbed from behind and pulled mercilessly into a storage closet. A gloved hand enveloped his mouth, while another held his neck in a tight, restraining grip.

"Where is she!?" a woman's voice hissed.

"Wohfh," Mark mumbled helplessly.

The figure uncovered his mouth, while still clinging tightly to the older man's neck.

"Where is she!?" the woman spoke again with more conviction. Her eyes glimmered with deadly passion.

"Who?" Mark's hands struggled with the woman's to let him get more air.

"Don't play smart, Doctor Sloan! The Smithsone kids! Where are they?!!"

Mark's eyes lit up with recognition of the last name Smithsone.

"Smithsone?"

"As I recall, the brats went by their stepfather's name- Valentine. But to me they will always be Smithsones. Kids of their worthless mother. Now, are you going to tell me where she is or do I have to kill you and find out another way?"

"The girl's a patient, and her brother is with her. Room 403."

The woman smiled sweetly and replied in mock kindness, "Thank you, Doctor. You made the right decision."

With that, she let go of her offensive grip and turned to leave, as Mark gingerly held his neck and took in a few deep breaths.

"Oh, and, Doctor Sloan?" she added, "if you're lying to me, I will hunt you down and kill you and your family."

Mark was silent, but his glare was sinister, to say the least. The threat on his son's and friends' lives were meant to make him break down and make him give up, but only succeeded in making him irate and furious.

As soon as she left, Mark whipped out his cell phone and, still in the cramped closet, dialed Steve's cell number.

"Steve. You're in the hospital, right? ... Good. Go to room 403 now!! Make it look like someone's in the bed. If you play your cards right, you might just catch a murderer. And, Steve, hurry!"

Puzzled and very alarmed at his father's short and urgent message, Steve bolted through the halls, ignoring the disapproving looks of the hospital staff. He ran into room 403 and was partially glad, yet somewhat surprised to find no one there.

Remembering his what he was supposed to do, Steve quickly stuffed a couple of large pillows under the rigid blankets of the bed and knelt down behind it.

Within a couple minutes, Steve spotted a woman surreptitiously sneaking into the room, a gun trained at the bed. She shot twice, aiming at the lump in the bed. Feathers whirled around the air.

Instantaneously rising from his position, Steve whisked his gun out of its holster and pointed it at the ready to flee assailant.

"Freeze! LAPD! Drop the gun!"

"Well, well, well," the gun shifted towards Steve's chest, "Haven't I had the displeasure of meeting you before?"

"You were the crazy PETA lady at the zoo?" Steve asked incredulously. "What on earth do you think you're doing? You're the most psychotic killer I've seen in a long time."

"Shut up. Someone like you has no idea what I'm accomplishing in the larger picture." The woman smiled a cat's smile. At that moment, a high-pitched thud resounded. Glass broke. A bullet pierced through the woman's heart and exited her back before she even hit the ground. Stunned momentarily by this strange twist of kismet, Steve recovered himself and instinctively checked for a pulse on the body that now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, knowing that there would not be one. He tore to the window, searching for a sniper, but only saw a few pigeons pecking at the rooftops and the smog of the city.

A few days later, Amanda finished her autopsy report on the woman. Christina Wellman, mother of two, unmarried. Nothing interesting or special. Steve's criminal file on the woman was also a dull as could be imagined. The only history she had in crime was two unpaid parking tickets and a ticket for speeding, all years apart. What bugged Mark the most was that the woman's initials did not match the initials on the note from the killer. Mark assumed that the sniper that had killed her must be the real killer of Mr. Valentine.

The LAPD's efforts were concentrated on finding the identity of the sniper. The police got lucky. The shooter had been sloppy, left evidence, and was identified by a video camera as having entered the apartment building across the street less than an hour before the murder. It was a thin woman whom the landlord and never seen before, and she was carrying an odd-looking suitcase. Her photograph was matched to a police file. Stupidly enough, the same type of rifle used to commit the murder was registered in her name. This was the undisputed murderer, Theresa Rumen.

Steve was happy. The murderer was stupid. The LAPD had been staking out her apartment. It was only a matter of time before she would show up and everything would go back to normal. Or so he thought.


	2. A Surprising Discovery

Chapter 2

BBQ Bob's was extremely busy that night. Jesse and Steve, as well as a few other employees were scurrying around trying to satisfy the customers' usually demanding desires. Even though neither Steve, nor Jesse were supposed to be working that night, being co-owners of the restaurant, they felt obligated to be there on such a busy night.

Jesse trudged into the seating area balancing a large, black plastic tray in one hand, loaded with piles of dirty dishes. In the other hand was a similar tray containing a myriad of steaming cups of piping hot coffee.

After gazing upon the grimy array of plates, he bitterly realized that he should have placed the dirty dishes in the kitchen before bringing out the coffee.

Jesse neatly pivoted in mid-step and briskly cantered towards the kitchen. He had his eyes set on the large metal door in front of him, paying no attention to Steve who was striding in front of his path.

"Jesse," Steve addressed his friend seriously.

Jesse, still oblivious to Steve's presence, kept shuffling along, right into the bewildered lieutenant, spilling scalding coffee all over Steve's jacket. The dirty dishes also plummeted to the ground with a loud clamor.

Steve howled in pain and leaped back from the offending coffee.

A young waiter, Alex Martin, had watched the scene take place and darted over to help Steve. Without thinking, Alex poured a pitcher of ice water over Steve's distressed form.

Steve stopped uttering a few choice words the second the icy liquid drenched him. He stood, wild-eyed and furious, his muscular arms draping out from him body as water cascaded from his now soaked clothing.

After recovering from the shock, Steve slowly lifted his head and gaped at Alex, who now dangled an empty pitcher from his hand and gave Steve a sheepish grin.

"Sorry," Alex admitted timidly.

Steve disregarded the apology and turned his incredulous gaze upon Jesse, who wore an equally sheepish expression plastered on his face.

"Oh, Steve. I'm so sorry. I didn't see you," Jesse spoke quickly.

Steve turned once more to the young medical student and spoke surprisingly tranquilly, "Alex, why did you pour ice water all over me? Jesse already singed my new jacket with his coffee,"

"Oh, gosh, Steve! I'm so sorry, I," Alex rambled, "I...I thought since you were burned... It happened so fast. I'm sorry."

"Whatever," Steve spoke agitatedly, "If you were concerned for my safety, you probably should _not _have poured water on me. I'm leaving in a couple of minutes and it's cold outside tonight."

"Actually, it is not cold enough to pose any danger to you, so long as you don't spend too long outside and," Jesse was cut off by Steve's threatening glare.

"I have to go to work- now! I'm already late as it is and I don't have any spare clothes because I was not planning on being burned, stained, and drenched!" Steve fumed.

"Hey, Steve. I have a spare set of scrubs in my car. You can borrow them," Jesse offered.

"Jesse, only you would carry a spare set of scrubs in your _car_. Anyway, I am _not _going to walk around in public looking like I'm ready to go into surgery! Imagine the look on a suspect's face when I go up to them in a surgeon's apparel and say, 'Hi! I'm Steve Sloan with the LAPD!' I'd look like a lunatic!" Steve ranted.

"I'll go and get them," Jesse replied smugly, stifling a laugh at Steve's horror-stricken face. "Besides, you can change when you get back to the station, right?"

Having dawned a pair of too-short, deep blue scrubs, Steve grumbled and sauntered to his pick up truck. He tried not to imagine the remarks he would get from everyone at the station; he probably would be teased for months, if not forever. He would change into some real clothes the minute he got to the station; nobody would ever have to know about this.

Steve stealthily sneaked into the station, trying to avoid anyone who could identify him. He was nearing his work area when he caught sight one of the most horrifying things Steve had ever had the displeasure to witness.

There, in front of him, was a large group of his co-workers, with Cheryl, holding a white lab coat and a stethoscope.

"We thought you might need these, Doctor," Cheryl teased, "Hey, did you get hurt again and sneak out by mugging a surgeon?"

"Jesse," Steve mumbled bitterly under his breath, "I should have known he was plotting something. Ha, ha. Very funny, guys."

"Oh, come on. It's not all his fault. I'm sure we still would have found out either way," Cheryl feigned sympathy.

Just then the Captain bolted out of his office, "Sloan! Banks! We've just gotten confirmation that our suspect Theresa Rumen was sighted near the intersection of 23rd Street and Maple Road. Sloan, change out of that ridiculous... Never mind! Just, go!"

"But, Sir!" Steve stammered, but was cut off when the Captain abruptly held up his hand to silence him.

"There's no time, Lieutenant. Now, go! I want you to be the one to bring her down," the Captain barked.

Seeing no point in arguing, Steve slipped on a black bullet-proof vest, wryly thinking that it would cover up some of the blue outfit.

Steve moped as he trudged to his old vehicle and drove quickly to the intersection, with Cheryl not far behind in her car.

After a short time, another call came in about the same person they were after. Some person, meeting Theresa's description, was sighted in the opposite direction. Cheryl and Steve split directions, each going to a location where their suspect had presumably been seen.

When Steve arrived at his destination, a deserted intersection with a few dilapidated buildings and several back alleys, he sluggishly crawled out of his vehicle and surveyed the dark street as best as he could.

Feeling heavy with his vest, he carefully unfastened it and pulled it from his chest. There was nobody around to notice his clothing, or lack there of. It would also be easier to explore without its tremendous weight. Steve laid the vest in the passenger side of his beloved truck and started his search.

Steve froze in mid-stride, the hairs along the back of his neck standing up, when he heard the muffled sound of footsteps behind him.

He swiftly reached for his gun. It wasn't there! How could he be so stupid as to forget to bring his gun?! Well, he was wearing scrubs.

A young woman with long, red hair emerged from a dark alley, her light face gleaming in the moonlight.

"Peter," the woman, who Steve recognized as Theresa Rumen spoke harshly, "Where is my money?"

"Money?" Steve asked nervously as he inched back away from the menacing character.

"Don't play innocent, Peter Clayton! You owe me 15 grand! I did your dirty work! I saw to it that Smithsone's husband was killed. I even sent someone to kill those pesky kids. Now pay up, Love."

"Uh," Steve stammered, still retreating from the gun bearing woman, "Did those 'pesky kids' actually get killed?"

"My sources are reliable. I'm sure they were. If you pay up, I'll finish the job."

"What makes you think I even want them dead?"

Theresa boldly strode up to Steve and smacked him hard across the face with her hand.

Steve flinched slightly at the sharp, unexpected pain, but held his ground.

"This is so like you!" She shrieked, "You start a revenge project, and, halfway through, you forget why! Now, I don't care if you are or are not happy with their deaths, but you will pay me!"

After seeing Steve's quizzical stare, she added passionately, "Don't you remember why you started this, Love? You were so angry that Smithsone chose Valentine over you. You wanted revenge. You waited so long... And then, you found me!"

"How did you recognize me, Sweet Cheeks?" Steve mentally chastised himself for speaking such vulgar street talk.

For this comment, Steve was rewarded with another acute slap to the face.

"How do you think, you idiot?! Who else would wander around in the middle of nowhere with your same complexion in scrubs?!" Theresa answered fiercely.

Steve was taken aback by her comment. This was all Jesse's fault! If he hadn't made him wear these, or if he just hadn't spilled coffee on him in the first place, none of this would be happening. Although, now Steve had a confession and another name to put into his investigation.

Steve was slightly puzzled that anyone could mistake him for a cold-blooded killer. It was dark, so Theresa probably couldn't see his face very well. He also guessed that this Peter Clayton was a surgeon or some surgeon-obsessed mental case.

"I don't have your money," Steve told her frankly.

"Too bad," Theresa said in a mock sorrowful way.

She drew a small, black revolver from her belt clip and trained it at Steve's chest.

A deafening shot rang out through the still, night air, and one of the forms buckled and collapsed onto the cold ground.


	3. A Menacing Threat

Chapter 3

A deafening shot rang out through the still, night air, and one of the forms buckled and collapsed onto the cold ground.

Am ominous, tall character gazed upon the scene from a decrepit apartment building, a small smirk forming on his terse face. It was all going according to plan.

Listlessly, the dark man turned and sauntered away from the horrifying scene.

He was extremely grateful that he had used a false name, Peter Clayton. Now that Theresa Rumen and her accomplice, Christina Wellman, were dead, nobody could turn him in or find out that he was the one who set these gullible idiots up to this. Not even that fool detective would be able to find him with the name Peter Clayton. Now he had to finish the plan.

Theresa Rumen lay motionless in the middle of the dark alley; Steve ceased all motion, temporarily paralyzed from the shock of the resounding fire.

He glanced at the fallen body, stunned that the shot did not hit him.

"Hey! Steve!" a concerned feminine voice called to him, "Are you OK?"

"Cheryl," Steve choked.

"Yeah, Steve. I can't believe you forgot your gun!"

"Don't remind me," Steve groaned as he trotted over to feel what he was certain was vainly, for a pulse on Theresa's pasty white neck.

"Cheryl!" Steve cried, "She's alive! Call an ambulance and page Dad!"

"I'm on it," she shouted back as she frantically whipped a small, silver cell phone from her denim jacket's pocket and proceeded to carry out Steve's urgent instructions.

Steve's thoughts centered solely on the injured woman in front of him. Although he couldn't care less about this psychotic lunatic, she was probably the only person who could identify this Peter Clayton and end this incessant case.

Steve tore the crimson jacket off of Theresa and placed it over the nasty wound, applying firm pressure to it to slow some of the bleeding.

After what felt like hours to Steve and Cheryl, but actually only minutes from when Cheryl made the call, both distressed co-workers heard the distant wailing of sirens get increasingly louder as the ambulance neared their location.

* * *

"How is she?" Steve almost pleaded at Jesse and Amanda when he arrived at the hospital.

"She was in hemorrhagic shock when she was brought in. It doesn't look good," Jesse answered gravely, purposefully refusing to look the older man in the eye and instead staring down at his white sneakers.

"But how is she?!" Steve asked again, impatiently.

"She lost a lot of blood, Steve. She's in the ICU," Amanda also refused to make eye contact with the distressed lieutenant, "I'm sorry, Steve. Was she a friend of yours?"

Steve's annoyed and flustered look turned to a furious and stone cold one.

"A friend?!!" he roared, "She's the one who hired that nut case to try and kill those kids and who _did_ kill Mr. Valentine! She openly confessed to hiring Christina Wellman and mistook _me _for another guy involved in the murder! The only reason I'm here is because I need to question her!"

"No way!" Jesse mused excitedly, "You caught the killer?! It's about time, you know"

"Jesse! Have you been listening to a word I was just saying? I said she mistook me for a murderer who had hired her to kill Mr. Valentine and his kids. That means that the biggest fish is still out there and if Theresa dies, our chances of finding him are almost zero!"

"Oh!" Amanda exclaimed, her small hand darting up to cover her petite mouth.

"How did she mistake you for someone else?" Jesse asked, bewildered.

"Some people look somewhat similar, Jess! It was dark; it still is dark... She also said something about me wearing _your_ scrubs was one reason she knew it was him!" Steve ranted.

Jesse snorted in laughter, noticing for the first time that Steve was _still _wearing his now dirty ocean blue scrubs.

This caused Steve to contemplate his appearance. After taking one look at his apparel, Steve blushed a hot pink and mentally kicked himself.

"I see you really like my scrubs, Steve," Jesse taunted, "You can keep 'em if you want. They're already really dirty. I don't even want to know what that is on your, no _my_, shirt."

Jesse neatly dodged a vicious head swipe from Steve.

"Believe me, Jess. If I could have taken these horrendous things off, I would have. The captain wouldn't let me because he said I didn't have time. Which brings me to another topic: I got a couple little presents from the guys at the station the minute I walked in the door. Any idea who might have been behind it?" Steve asked bitterly, pinning an accusatory glare on Jesse.

"Well I have to go now, Steve! Bye!" Jesse made a hasty retreat down the corridors of the halls, nearly running into patients and staff alike.

Amanda stood near Steve, slowly shaking her head as she watched the younger doctor's evacuation.

"Well, Amanda. I'm going to find Dad. You'll tell me if anything happens with Theresa?" Steve finally broke the tense silence.

"Of course," Amanda replied pleasantly, "I think Mark is in the doctors' lounge."

"See ya," Steve dismissed himself cheerfully and headed to the lounge at a brisk canter.

"Hi, Son!" Mark merrily greeted as his Steve as the lieutenant strode into the small lounge.

"Hey, Dad," Steve replied brightly.

"Steve, did a friend of yours come in to the ER?"

"What?!!!" Steve wailed, "She is _not_ my friend!"

"I see," Mark voiced his skepticism.

"Dad!" Steve whined, "She's Theresa Rumen, the one who killed Mr. Valentine! She openly confessed it to me when she thought I was some nut called Peter Clayton."

"Wow," Mark considered this, "So you _don't_ like her?"

Steve shot Mark his best piercing glare.

"Dad!!!!" Steve complained.

"Ok, ok! It was just a joke," Mark defended himself.

"A pretty lousy one at that," an animated voice called from the hall, "I mean, considering she tried to shoot Steve."

"Jesse... She tried to shoot Steve!!!" Mark uttered.

For making his Steve's father worry, Jesse received another one of Steve's penetrating gawks.

"Dad, Cheryl got there first. I'm fine," Steve tried to reassure his father.

Jesse sauntered into the doctors' lounge and plopped onto the enormous, olive green couch.

"You don't look _fine_. Just look at yourself!" Mark howled, "Are those... scrubs?! Why on earth are you wearing scrubs? And what is on them?!"

Before Steve could so much as open his mouth to speak, Jesse jumped in and filled Mark in on the whole story, "Oh. Steve spilled coffee on himself and then got water all over him. He had to go to work and asked me if he could borrow my scrubs. I guess he forgot to change at the station."

Steve's demeanor rapidly became menacing as he retorted sharply, "Jesse! That is _not _what happened, and you know it! Dad, Jesse ran into me with coffee because he says he didn't know I was in front of him, speaking to him! Then Alex ran over and dumped ice water on my _head._ Jesse _insisted_ that I wear his scrubs. When I got to the station, I was met by my co-workers, some presents, and immense teasing- compliments of Jesse's phone call! Before I had time to change, the captain ordered me out to find Theresa! So, here I am!"

Mark and Jesse burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter at the retelling of Steve's pathetic story; soon, however, it was Steve's turn to chuckle when Jesse lapsed off of the couch and landed on the hard floor with a thud.

"So, do you have any new info on Theresa's condition?" Steve directed his question at the now hysterical Jesse, who lay curled in a tight ball on the floor, convulsing with laughter.

"Uh," Jesse paused and continued his chortling, before maintaining his composure, "Yeah... She's still in ICU. But, there's a good chance she'll make it. And, no, she won't be able to answer to your interrogations right now."

"Are you going to stop acting like an insane maniac and get up off the floor or do I have to pour some water on _you _to bring you back to planet sanity?!" Steve finally asked agitatedly.

Still slightly chuckling, Jesse slowly climbed to his feet and faced Steve, "You have to admit, Buddy, it is pretty funny. I bet all the nurses will be talking about this for quite some time."

This time, Jesse wasn't fortunate enough to elude Steve's attack and was rewarded with one of Steve's famous head swipes.

"Owww!" Jesse cried, "What was that for?"

"You're the one who forced me to wear these! That's the last time I listen to you!" Steve fumed at the youthful, blond haired doctor.

"Like you do anyway!" Jesse countered.

"I'm older! I don't have to listen to you!"

"So? I know tons more about medical stuff than you do!"

"Jesse, you're a doctor! Of course you know about more medical stuff than I do! And I don't care! But you know nothing about solving crimes, yet you still insist that you help me solve them!"

"Hey! I do know about solving crimes!"

"Uh, guys? Is this a private argument or can I join too?" Amanda asked with a broad grin an her face as she ambled into the room.

She exchanged an amused glance with Mark who was sitting in a small green chair near the table, watching the banter between his son and colleague.

Both Steve and Jesse turned a dull pink at having been caught in such a childish argument.

"I have some good news," Amanda declared buoyantly.

The three men's ears came to attention in anticipation of what Amanda might say.

"Your friend," and at Steve's icy glare, "Err... Theresa's awake."

Steve's eyes sparkled with radiant hopefulness before he made a mad dash for the door and exited the room, nearly tripping over his own two feet.

The three doctors watched his hasty exit with matching, knowing grins on their faces.

Within a few seconds, Steve's face peered back into the doctors' lounge as he sheepishly asked, "Uh... What's the room number?"

"203," Amanda answered smugly.

"Uh... Thanks," he spoke softly and darted towards the elevators.

Fifteen minutes later and Steve ran out or room 203 feeling thankful to escape with his life. He found himself thinking it might have been better off if Theresa had been killed from the gunshot wound, as little help as she was. And to make things worse, Steve had to work a shift at BBQ Bob's that evening.

"Hey, Steve," Jesse addressed his friend as Steve entered BBQ Bob's at closing time, "Did you get anything out of Theresa?"

"She practically tried to kill me when she found out I wasn't Peter. I think the only thing that held her back was the handcuff. She didn't spill a word," Steve answered sadly.

"Hmm. Do you have anything on this Peter guy?"

"Background check didn't turn up anything suspicious on any one of the maybe 20 Peter Clayton's in LA."

"Twenty!?"

"About."

"Steve, we really ought to think about changing our menu," Jesse blissfully changed the subject.

"What's wrong with our menu?" Steve questioned skeptically, not liking where this conversation was heading.

"Come on! We should have Caesar salads and maybe spaghetti or hamburgers or something," Jesse suggested gleefully.

"Jess! This is a _barbecue _restaurant, not an Italian eatery or fast food place! Our menu is fine!"

"Change can be good. Nobody _has_ to eat the new stuff," Jesse reasoned.

"So are you suggesting that we carry expensive food items that no one will buy?! We don't need to change our menu! What are you going to suggest next, pink walls and polka music?!"

"Pink walls and polka music... Cool!"

Steve opened his mouth to counter Jesse's ridiculous statement, but the shrill ringing of his cell phone cut him off.

"Sloan here," Steve spoke dully into his phone.

"Who is this?!" he demanded after a pause.

Not long after, Steve clicked his phone off and sighed deeply.

"Steve, what's wrong?" Jesse sounded truly concerned.

"I presume the infamous 'Peter Clayton' is the one who just threatened me."

Jesse's expression became serious as he asked, "What did he say?"

"He just told me to stay away from the investigation, and, if I do, I _might_ not get hurt."

A bullet crashed through the front window of the restaurant, nearly missing Steve's head.

"Get down!" Steve cried as several more shots rang out, bullets flying in every direction. Glass flew every which-way, causing a terrible racket and terrifying the two men as they cowered on the floor. Only a few seconds passed before the glass settled, there was a screech of tires, and all was quiet.

"You know, Steve," Jesse commented after the firing had ceased, "We really ought to invest in bullet-proof windows. I mean, how many times does this place have to get shot up before you agree to it?"

"Tell me about it," Steve groaned as still another round of shots whizzed through the air.

Still lying on the cold floor, the pair tightly shielded their faces with their arms, praying that this would soon be over.


	4. A Plan Carried Out?

**Gotcha**

Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: Same apply.

Please continue to read and respond. Thanks. :)

Still lying on the cold floor, the pair tightly shielded their faces with their arms, praying that this would soon be over.

* * *

Neither Steve nor Jesse had any inkling of an idea about how long they had been forced to lay on the hard, freezing floor of BBQ Bob's, protecting their faces with panicked arms from the array of bullets showering over them. They waited several tense and drawn-out moments after the deafening shots had subsided.

Steve slowly sat up and winced at the white-hot searing pain that flashed through his right arm and his head felt like it had been clamped in the jaws of some wild animal. He gently supported the injured arm with his other hand and carefully scooted back against a wall for support.

Jesse gradually peered up from his turtle-like position and took in the destruction of their beloved restaurant.

His incredulous gaze soon fell on the pain-stricken Steve Sloan.

"Steve?!!" Jesse exclaimed dashing to his friend's side, "Steve, you're... you've been shot!" Jesse stated, engulfed in hysterical worry.

"I'm fine. Bullet just grazed me; no big deal," Steve tried to sound calm but the strain in his voice betrayed him.

"Uh, huh. Then just humor me and let me stop some of the bleeding, OK?" he reasoned with the stubborn detective.

Seeing no point in arguing, Steve pulled an exasperated face and let Jesse get on with the task of creating a makeshift bandage and, much to the lieutenant's dismay, call for an ambulance, as well as the police.

"Jesse, I'm fine! If you must insist I go to the hospital, you can drive me!" Steve's custom complaints soared from his mouth.

"I think you have a mild concussion, and, not to mention the fact that you were hit by a bullet..."

"_Grazed_, not hit," Steve corrected, "I must have gotten it when the bullet knocked my head into that chair."

"Ah. So you see my point. Besides, I don't want you riding in my car. You might stain it and then it wouldn't be perfect anymore," Jesse pointed out, a playful grin radiating from his boyish features.

This earned Jesse an icy glare from Steve, who quickly looked around to locate something to throw at the young doctor.

"See if I ever give you a ride home again," the detective mumbled.

"Like I'd ever want to ride in your pick-up truck anyway. I have a _cool_ car."

"What is wrong with my truck?!!!"

* * *

Steve, with a newly heavily bandaged arm, Jesse, and Mark sat around the table in the doctor's lounge discussing the recent attempt on Steve's and Jesse's lives.

"Steve," Mark asked his son coolly, "What exactly happened at Bob's?"

Steve opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Jesse, leaving him to sit and gape like a fish.

"Well, some bad guys started shooting the place up. It was terrible! My life flashed before my eyes. We sat there forever before they stopped," Jesse enthused dramatically.

"Jesse, it was just a warning. We weren't in any real danger. I bet it was only an accident that one shot got far enough in the building to graze me," Steve put some rational thought to his friend's recall of events.

"Which leads me to what happened after you were... grazed... by that bullet," Jesse added smugly, managing to perk Mark's curiosity and attaining his full and undivided attention, "I seem to recall you refusing to get into the ambulance and you had to be persuaded by the paramedics before you finally gave in. I wonder if this hospital has a 'Worst Patient of the Year' award."

"Persuading... yeah right! More like blackmail. How was I supposed to know that the paramedic knew Dad? ... Hey! I am not the worst patient of the year!" Steve protested.

Mark, truly concerned and practically furious at Steve, eyed his son with a cold, trained eye.

"The paramedic had to blackmail you to get you into the ambulance!?" Mark vented, "Steve, you were shot! How you could be so stubborn as not to listen to trained professionals, I don't know! Steve, you need to learn to take care of yourself..."

Steve inwardly groaned. He had attracted the full-blown wrath of his over-protective father, compliments of Jesse's and his big mouths.

Still in the middle of delivering a philippic to the lieutenant, the shrill sound of Mark's pager called him to the ER.

"I am not done with you, young man," Mark warned as he prepared to respond to the call, "I'll finish up here with whatever they want me to do and then I'm going home. Ally and Sam are there and I don't want to leave them alone for too long."

"I would sentence you to preparing dinner, but I don't think either of them or I could stomach it," he added after a pause and snickered at his son's feigned hurt look.

"So, are you gonna cook then, Mark?" Jesse asked hopefully.

"Sure, Jess you can come too. I'll ask Amanda if she wants to join us," Mark responded, much to Jesse's delight.

Jesse beamed his thanks and turned his attention back to sipping room-temperature coffee.

With that, Mark chuckled softly and breezed out of the room to abide by the ever-increasing demands of the ER.

From the hallway, a hard figure stared at Steve with menacing eyes, plotting his next big move. This was _definitely_ too easy.

* * *

Later that evening, Mark and Steve, as well as Amy and Sam, were fixing dinner and waiting anxiously for their guests to arrive.

Mark grilled and seasoned savory steaks, whipped up fluffy mashed potatoes, baked the bread, and fixed the other sides. He left the salad and drinks to Steve, not trusting him with anything that required actual cooking. The girls busied themselves with setting the large table on the deck.

An extremely eager Jesse arrived first, followed by a very pleased Amanda.

"Hey, guys, wanna help me with the salad?" Steve pleaded from the kitchen.

They laughed and trotted over to assist Steve in the ever-so-difficult task of preparing a salad.

"Hey, Steve, did you try to put meatloaf or something in it? Salads aren't all that difficult to make," Jesse commented, a wry grin spreading over his face.

"You know, I think I remember him sneaking some kind of meat-like dish into the salad. I have no idea if it was meatloaf," Sam responded for Steve as she emerged from the deck.

"Yeah, it could have one of the steaks, only mashed," Ally backed Sam's theory.

"Ha, ha, very funny. This is a vegetarian salad," Steve shot back, playfully.

"Hi, guys. I presume you're feeling better, Sam," Jesse greeted, flashing them a winning smile.

"Yep," Sam responded proudly, before adding mischievously, "Have you made any progress in the case? I want to know who is after my parents and me. Steve won't tell me much."

"Sam," Steve started, slightly exasperated, "It's over your head. Don't worry about it."

Sam grimaced at Steve and looked at Jesse expectantly.

"Aww, come on, Steve! I'm sure she can handle it. She's not a little kid," Jesse stood up for a now ecstatic Sam.

"Fine! The one who kicked you- dead. The one who hired the one who kicked you- in the hospital. Happy?" Steve asked as he took the salad outside.

"What about the guy who hired the one in the hospital- you know the _biggest fish _who's still on the loose?" Jesse's curiosity got the best of him and caused him to be on the receiving end of three stone-cold glares, compliments of Steve, Mark, and Amanda.

"Oops," Jesse mumbled pathetically.

Sam's eyes widened at this revelation.

"You mean there's _another_ person involved in this?! A guy who hired an accomplice, who hired a hit-woman?! And he's on the loose. Wow! !" Sam squealed.

All four adults raised their eyebrows. Steve finally broke the silence.

"Cool???! You think it's _cool_?!" he asked incredulously.

"Not cool as in it's cool that this guy might try and kill me, but cool as in this is like a real investigation! But I don't think there's much danger of him hurting us, though." Sam reasoned.

"You think?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, then how do you explain the fact that he threatened me and shot up Bob's.... Oh, no!"

This time Steve had to endure sinister glares.

"Sam, did you ever think about becoming a professional interrogator or maybe a salesperson? How did you get that stuff out of us?!" Steve whined.

"Look, Sam," Mark soothed, not taking his eyes off of the steaks in front of him, "There's nothing to worry about. You'll be safe here. Just don't open the door for strangers, and don't give out information online..."

"Yeah, yeah we know. We're not stupid... He threatened you! That's terrible! So you didn't get hurt by slamming your arm in the trunk of a car. I knew you weren't that dumb!" Sam pointed out, grinning.

"You told her you hurt your arm by catching it in a trunk! Wow, Steve! I always thought you were great at thinking well under pressure, but now," Amanda teased.

"You're not scared are you? We didn't mean to worry you," Steve shot Jesse another disapproving look.

"Sc... Scared? Why would we be scared that this guy is gonna blow up the whole city to hurt us? Wh... Why would we be scared of some big, huge guy who's gonna release all the bad guys and form a super-villains club to attack us?" Ally asked in a mock- hysterical and petrified way.

This earned her a gawk from Steve and light chortling from the rest of them.

"It's okay to be scared, though," Amanda told her seriously.

"Dinner's ready!" Mark called as he carried delicious- looking steaks outside and placed them in the middle of the table.

Nobody had to be told twice before they made a mad dash for the deck, each mesmerized by the aroma of the food.

* * *

At Community General Hospital, the mastermind behind the attacks stalked around the hospital, fuming. Where was Doctor Sloan and his stupid son! And Smithsone's daughter wasn't even in the hospital! Where could she be?! She didn't have anywhere to go- except for _the Sloans._

Furiously, he turned and marched over to the nurses' station.

"Is Doctor Sloan here?" he demanded.

"Uh, no he left a few hours ago," a receptionist answered monotonically.

"Do you know where he is?" he started to rant even more.

The receptionist looked at him skeptically, "Why do you need to know?"

"I have to tell him something."

"I think he's at his home."

"Where's that?!!"

"I think you'd better leave now."

Enraged, he stormed away, grumbling to himself. Now he was at square one! He didn't know where the Sloans were, and he didn't know where Smithsone's stupid daughter was. He was going to find them. But, maybe he'd have some fun with Steve first. He knew all sorts of tricks to get people to talk. This was going to be fun.

First, he had to silence Theresa Rumen: that back-stabbing, stupid fool. She was so incompetent she had to hire a hit-man to kill Samantha- and neither of them succeeded. If she decided to talk, even only knowing his false identity, it could mean trouble for him. Yes, he knew just how to put her out of her misery.

Feeling slightly less miserable, the mad-man headed up to the second floor to visit Theresa. He smiled an evil grin when he touched the syringe in his pocket and thought about the effect its contents would have on his accomplice.

After racing up the stairs two at a time, he neared his target's room. He bounded towards it and felt his heart plummet to his feet when he realized that a guard was stationed in front of it.

Then, at thought struck him. The guard wasn't _protecting _her. He was preventing a possible escape.

Confidently, he strode up to the large, intimidating officer and entered the room, flashing a card in front of his eyes.

That was too easy. All he had to do was put on a lab coat and have a driver's license- or any other card for that matter. The guard didn't see the identity.

Quietly he padded into the room to find a sleeping Theresa. Snickering at how easy this was, he pulled out the syringe and planned to inject it into her IV line.

So, what do you think? Should I continue? Please respond! Thanks. 


	5. A Hostage Situation

Chapter 5

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**Disclaimer: **all still apply

Snickering at how easy this was, he pulled out the syringe and planned to inject it into her IV line.

* * *

The needle hovered in the air as he slowly, savoring every moment, brought it closer to his target.

While still in the middle of a murder, a nurse sauntered in and quietly observed the scene before her eyes, before gasping, "Sir! What are you.... doing!"

Filled with a strange combination of horror, agitation, and amusement, the man swiftly capped the shot and hastily stuffed it into the large pocket of his lab coat.

"Why, nothing at all. Just visiting an old friend is all," he told her very calmly, a smug grin appearing on his hard, dull face.

With that, he floated past her, ignoring her panicked expression.

When out of sight of the nosy nurse, and, once again in the pristine corridors of Community General, the would-be killer of Theresa vented some of his fury.

Why did that snoopy nurse have to interrupt him?! Could she ID him? This was worse than before! Ok, he would have to maybe finish off Steve before Theresa. Or maybe both at the same time. It didn't really matter. Well, right now, he would go after Steve. Later, after that pesky nurse was off duty, he'd kill Theresa- she couldn't go to the police now anyway - and, finally, he'd finish off the main project he'd planned- Samantha Smithsone. Wow, so many people had to die when one murder was committed. Oh, well, all the more fun for him.

Finally, after moments of intense thinking, and harsh words to staff that got in his way, he decided to go back to his car and find the Sloans- if it was the last thing he did. Content at the moment, he carried out the plan and made his way out into the warm, muggy Los Angeles dusk to find his jet-black SUV.

* * *

Night was fast approaching. Having finished their meal, Mark and Steve resided on the large couch. Jesse and Amanda each sat in recliners and Sam and Ally took seats on the love seat.

Being in front of children, they tried to keep their conversation light and not talk about the case, but that didn't last long.

Right as Jesse and Amanda were preparing to head home after an enjoyable dinner with friends, Steve got a phone call from Cheryl.

"What!!!?" he spoke harshly into the receiver, "Does she have protection? ... I don't care! She might be our only clue!"

This intense conversation picked the curiosity of everyone in the room and after Steve hung up, he was the recipient of expectant looks.

"That was Cheryl. Apparently someone who looked 'surprisingly like me' went into Theresa Rumen's room and tried to inject what looked like a syringe into her IV line!" he roared at no one in particular, "And, what galls me is, the guard didn't even check the guy's ID! He got away, no questions asked! Wanna guess who this might have been and what was in that syringe?!"

"Steve, calm down," Mark urged, "Getting upset won't solve anything."

"Why would that Peter Clayton guy want to kill his girlfriend? I mean, she mistook you for her boyfriend, Peter Clayton," Jesse inquired.

"Because," Sam interjected merrily, "why would anyone want to keep alive an accomplice that knows too much? Don't most mass-murderers kill their accomplices when they least expect, so they get away with it? And what if Peter doesn't love her and she's convinced he does, the sad reality of denial. She might not hate me at all, just a poor sap who got conned into killing by an evil murderer who she thought loved her... I'd hate to see her reaction when she finds out- how devastating!"

This time the whole gang looked at her incredulously.

"I think you've been watching _way_ too much TV," Steve told her, shaking his head slightly.

"No, Steve. I think she might be on to something," Mark commented softly, trying to digest Sam's theory, minus the love comments and other non-relating statements.

"Dad," Steve started.

"Steve, it makes sense. She might be doing this because she was convinced- or even for money. This could be all Peter's idea."

"_If _that is his real name. I didn't find anything suspicious an any Peter Clayton's in LA. Now: how do we catch him?"

"Steve!" Amanda enthused after remembering a sudden afterthought, "Did you ever check Theresa's apartment after she was shot?"

"Yes, but it didn't turn up anything suspicious. Why?" Steve responded, wondering where this conversation was heading.

"You might find a clue on her relationship with this Peter Clayton."

"You, know, I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, "But, if there is, than Peter will want to get there first." Steve jumped up and made his way towards the nearest exit, grabbing his badge and gun as he did so.

"Where are you going?" Jesse casually voiced the question on all their minds.

"To Theresa's apartment," Steve answered briskly, searching for his car keys.

"Want some company?" Jesse asked, eager to help with anything he wasn't allowed to be doing.

Steve temporarily gave up his futile attempt in the search and made eye contact with his friend.

"I thought you didn't want a ride in my pick-up anymore car because you have a... _cool_... car."

Jesse smiled and grabbed his brown coat, ready to release some of his nervous energy.

* * *

Sam's stalker was enjoying his evening drive, letting the windows down and reveling in the breeze. Only one thing stopped him from the joy of it all: he had absolutely no idea where the Sloans lived.

He could maybe go to Theresa's apartment. She was obsessive at whatever she did and took her job as a hit-woman very seriously. Yes, she probably knew where they lived- and maybe would have an address written down somewhere.

He could drop by the apartment, maybe steal a few things, and find his information. Then, it was straight to Sloan's house. Maybe soon this horrendous task would be over and he would have the satisfaction of seeing Samantha Smithsone dead.

Hopefully, there would not be another set-back.

* * *

Steve and Jesse stood erect in front of the decrepit apartment complex, taking in the spooky aurora that seemed to emanate from the building.

"Do people actually live in here?" Jesse asked, his gaze still inspecting the apartment, horrified at the thought that someone would actually inhabit such a filthy, dangerous place.

"'Fraid so. They must be pretty desperate to live in such an apartment as this," Steve observed.

Cautiously, the friends crept toward the building. As they entered through an insecure rusty door, Steve and Jesse heard the high pitched, unmistakable wail of crying coming from upstairs.

Both, recalling their professional oaths, sped up the creaky stairs two at a time, trying to pinpoint the sound of the crying.

What they found completely horrified them. A little boy, not more that 8 or 9 years old sat curled up in a messy heap, sobbing heavily.

Jesse, almost without thinking, dashed over, dropped onto one knee and gave him a quick once-over.

He was very young. His raffish clothing was baggy on his excessively skinny body. The boy's blond hair was damp and it lay, in a mop, on his head.

"What happened?" Jesse soothed. Steve stood at a distance, watching helplessly.

The boy, after realizing that he was crying in front of two complete strangers, flinched away and made an attempt to cease crying.

"It's OK. We'll help you. Now, can you tell me what happened?" Jesse spoke again, trying to comfort the distressed figure.

"I... I was just walking around when this guy came over.... And..." the boy choked out and looked into the young man's deep blue, sympathetic eyes, then over to Steve's tall form.

"Him!" he cried, pointing to a very startled lieutenant, "He did this to me!"

"Shh. Calm down. This is Steve. He didn't hurt you. We just got here. It's OK."

Not sure whether or not to trust this seemingly nice guy, he looked at each man again. The boy didn't find the evil smirk of the wicked man who had threatened him and hurt him; instead, he found warm, understanding smiles and gazes brimming with compassion.

"Ok," the boy mumbled, barley audibly, "I saw a guy doing something weird in one of the rooms and he saw me... He came over to me and... threatened my family and... did this."

He slowly uncovered his face to reveal an ugly-looking, large bruise on his ashen face. If that wasn't enough, he also showed a mean t and yet another dark bruise on his left ankle.

Jesse's expression turned to one of terror and disgust, Steve's to one of pure hatred.

"It's OK. Nobody's going to hurt you again. Here, let me help you," Jesse continued his cheerful monologue as he attempted to clean the gash on the boy's leg up some.

"Do you live around here?" Steve inquired softly.

"On the third floor, second room on the right. My mom and I live there, but, she's gone now."

"That's alright. Do you know how we can contact her?"

"Her work phone number is 555-2340. You can try that."

Steve flashed him a thankful smile and motioned for Jesse to follow him.

Reluctantly, Jesse gave in and, after reassuring the boy he'd be back shortly, followed Steve just out of hearing distance from the child.

"Steve, I think he should get checked out at the hospital," Jesse whispered seriously, "That wound will probably require a few stitches and this dirty building is no place for an injured person to be."

"Yeah, OK. What'd you bet that the guy who hurt him is Peter Clayton, or whatever his real name is? See if you can get him to ride in the truck, and then I'll come back and investigate further," Steve tried to keep his voice low as well.

"_You'll _investigate further? I thought we were doing this together?" Jesse whined.

"A kid was threatened, abused by the guy we're after! Peter was here! I have to call in..." Steve tried to reason, but saw that it was getting him nowhere, "Fine! You can have one look around when we get back- just don't..."

"Get in the way, touch anything, breathe, yeah,yeah, I know," he cut Steve off.

"OK, then. Now try to get him to come with us. He might end up even needing police protection if Peter decided to come back and hurt him again."

* * *

Once again, Steve and Jesse attempted to approach the apartment. This time, however, it was surrounded by a few other policemen, each trying to investigate this possible break in the case.

"You know, Jess, I'm not supposed to be letting you do this," Steve sighed.

"Hey. I've been to more crime scenes than I could possibly count. Why stop now?" Jesse countered as they maneuvered through the dark hallways of the apartment building.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you were _allowed_ to be there... So did you find anything more about what happened to the kid?" Steve proceeded to get on topic.

"Apparently, Peter hit him with a lamp post, yes a lamp post, and slashed his ankle with a knife. Real mean guy! Anyway, he said his attacker looked like you- you heard him. We found his mother, though,"

Steve just sighed deeper, broad shoulders sagging slightly and continued sauntering towards his destination.

When they reached Theresa's apartment, Steve reached into his leather jacket and revealed a small, silver key. Steadily, he brought it up to the designated hole on the door and, with a quick jerk of his wrist, the door was unlocked and open.

Shrugging, both made their way into the apartment, which almost exactly like it did when Steve had last been there.

Jesse skipped over to a black filing cabinet and motioned for Steve.

The detective swiftly closed the gap between them and pulled on a pair of white plastic gloves. He then started rummaging through it, hoping to find any clue that might end this tedious investigation.

Jesse wandered around the very small room, eying a few posters and discovering, much to his disappointment, that none of them hinted anything suspicious.

Blindly, he stumbled on a loose floor board, which caused one end to dislodge completely from the floor and caught him square on the forehead, sending the bewildered doctor flying backward.

"Jesse!" Steve groaned, "I thought I told you not to touch anything- let alone break anything!"

"Sorry... Steve.." Jesse told him, a little dazed, rubbing at the large red bump jetting out from his forehead.

Steve scowled and then caught eye of what was under the floor, causing his annoyed expression to one of a child at Christmas.

"Jesse!!!" Steve exclaimed happily, "You're a genius!"

"I... am? ... I am! Why?" Jesse asked from the floor, looking completely confused.

"Look," Steve motioned to the compartment under the floor.

Steve raced over and carefully examined each photograph. His ecstatic, blue eyes turned dull and grim after scanning each picture.

Observing the sudden change in Steve's demeanor, Jesse carefully, slowly stood and crept over to Steve.

"What is it?" Jesse asked, looking over Steve's shoulder, "Oh, no! It's Sam... and... us!"

"And her family and... Whoa!!! This guy _does_ look like me!" Steve pointed to a tall, brown haired man in a black suit, a revolver in hand, "So this must be Peter Clayton!"

"Yes, and now you'll be handing them over to me," a gruff, evil voice sounded form the hallway, before he entered and trained a familiar black revolver on Steve, "and I'll kill you quick-like. I would really like to thank your stupid little friend there for finding them for me. I must admit that I would never have looked there."

Steve glared at him, a sinister look that would have frightened anyone- except this monster.

"Why?" Steve asked dully, not really caring the reason this murderous psychopath had for committing such terrible crimes.

"Revenge, of course, Detective. And, in case you're wondering how I'm here, the simple answer is- I never left. When I saw you helping that _poor, defenseless_ little trash bag, I figured you'd come back. You know, it really is much easier to get the info when someone finds it for you! Who knew threatening a little kid could turn out to be so handy? Gave me time to plan my ambush, which, by the way, was very well executed, don't you think?" came the sly reply.

Jesse, having been stunned into silence, finally spoke up, "So _you're _the one who hurt him! He didn't do anything to you! Can you really add that up to revenge!"

"Hmm. I suggest you hold your tongue, boy, or I might have some fun with Lieutenant Stupid here before I kill ya," the figure shifted, keeping the gun on Steve the whole time.

Neither Steve, nor Jesse could keep the shock and fear from shoeing in their paling faces.

* * *

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	6. Getting out alive?

**Chapter 6**

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Neither Steve, nor Jesse could keep the shock and fear from showing in their paling faces.

* * *

"Sloan, I want some answers, and I want them now," the harsh voice demanded.

"If you want to know where Sam is, then you're out of luck. I would never tell someone like you anything," Steve gritted through his teeth.

"Well then, Lieutenant, it looks like you have a choice to make: your best friend or some snotty little teenager. Which is it going to be?"

Jesse's eyes grew even larger, if that were possible, before his reason overcame his fear.

"If Steve did tell you where she was, how would we know you wouldn't kill her, us, and anyone else who got in your way?" Jesse accused, keeping his back firmly planted against a peach colored wall.

"Well, I guess you'll just have to find that out for yourself, won't you?" the captor tantalized the prisoners, his menacing gun still not wavering from Steve's chest.

Still squatting near the small compartment in the floor, Steve's face showed steely resolve. His jaw was set tight; his fear for the safety of him and those around him not evident in the slightest. Steve eyed the gun-bearing killer, a sinister galre that almost penatrated the confidence the other man had, but not quite.

"I don't imagine there's any need for formalities," he spoke again, "You can call me John, since you're both going to die anyway. "

"Why are you doing this, besides the fact that you're a sick and twisted phycopath?" Steve ground out, hoping to buy more time for back-up to find him.

"Because, Detective Know-Nothing, revenge is sweet. Do you know what Smithsone did to me?! She chose that scumball over me! She turned me down, and I went away with a heavy heart. But when I returned, she was all happy with another guy, and not just any man: my best friend!! She married my best friend just to get back at me!" John bellowed.

"I am going to assume you're talking about Sam's mother... And, anyway, how do you know that she married your best friend just to get back at you?" Steve offered more rationality at a man who obviously didn't want to hear it.

"Why else would she marry my best friend?!" he growled, his gun starting to quiver, nevertheless aimed on Steve.

"Uh... Try...Oh, I don't know... Love," Jesse offered sarcastically.

John clasped his head in his large, rough hands around his head, trying in vain to fend off a terrible headache. His prisoners were ganging up on him! This was too much.

"Why are you going after Sam, then? She didn't do anything to you!" Steve saw his tactic was working wonderfully; the guy was getting nervous.

"I want to see Smithsone suffer! If I kill her daughter, it'll teach her a lesson! Then maybe I'll kill her husband, other family, and finally both of us will die gloriously together.

'Great! Not only is this guy homicidal, but he's also suicidal!' thought Steve, inwardly groaning.

"You have to let your anger go, or it will haunt you for the rest of your life," Jesse spoke up, trying to keep the utter terror he was feeling from being prominent in his voice.

"Shut up, kid! What do you know! Everyone, just shut up!! I can't take this anymore!! I'm leaving, but first I need to call a baby-sitter," John threatened, grinning evilly at the other occupants of the room.

Steve and Jesse exchanged nervous glances, not at all liking what they thought their crazy captor might do.

* * *

Mark Sloan paced nervously around his perfectly clean kitchen. Where was Steve?! He was supposed to have been home hours ago! Amanda had long-ago left, and the girls were asleep.

Trying to calm himself, Mark plopped into a well-furnished wooden chair. He decided to try Steve's cell one last time.

Sighing, he grabbed the silver cordless phone and instinctivly dialed his son's number.

After several moments, he put the phone down and sighed even deeper: where could Steve be?

* * *

After what felt like endless hours of waiting, whilst the insane maniac kept them at bay with a gun, a loud banging at the flimsy door interrupted the tense silence.

"Ah, that must be Ryan now..." John cheerfully announced, gun still staring at Steve, threatening to put a bullet in him at a moment's notice, "Name, Password!"

"Open up, Johnny, it's Ryan. And I don't know no fool password!" an animated voice sounded from the hallway.

"Come on in, then, Ryano!"

Not bothering to fool with the lock or doorknob, Ryan kicked the door in with a mighty blow and stormed in. He towered over all three of them; his muscle made even Steve look wimpy.

"Don't call me that," he warned.

"What do you want me to do?" Ryan asked, his dull brown eyes showing his lack of enthusiasm for his task.

"Look after these two idiots, while I take care of some buisness. And, you might as well have fun with them before you finish them off," John hinted, an omnious twinkle appearing briefly in his dark eyes.

Ryan nodded as a small grin formed around the corners of his boyish face.

With that, John turned and sauntered out of the crowded apartment, stopping to turn and face his prisoners one last time, "Bye, guys! You won't have to put up with knowing you failed for too long!"

Steve realised that since a gun was no longer being aimed at him, it would be a great oppurtunity to carry out a plan, and decided to try and reach for his own gun.

Quickly, surreptitiously, he inched his hand towards his holster, where his gun could bring them all to safety.

Unfortunatley for Steve, Ryan saw the sly move and even faster, reached for his own handgun. In a rapid flash of silver, yet another gun was aimed at his chest.

Steve stopped his frantic attempt and looked up into his new captor's eyes, grinning sheepishly. Ryan was staring at Steve with a cold eye, but not anything like the bitterness of John's. Steve could tell he was forcing his toughness; it wasn't natural. He seemed like a scared kid, a really big scared kid. Ryan's brown hair was plastered onto his forehead and was starting to sweat.

"Don't move... or I'll... I'll shoot!" Ryan tried to threaten, but his fear of the lieutenant's blazing, grizly glare caused him to stutter. There was something about this guy he had never seen before. He was angry, but remained absolutely calm.

"Kid, you don't want to do this. That guy is a cold-blooded killer. If he thinks you know too much, he'll kill you, accomplice or not," Steve tried to talk him out of doing something stupid.

"No! He's not gonna.. kill me! I am.. not an accomplice!" Ryan tried to sound fierce, but once again, the detective caused him to be terrified. What was with this guy?! He looked like he could take out anyone or anything if he was provoked. Yet, it wasn't the hard, irrational look of someone who didn't want to die. No, this coldness had to come from the fear of something much greater, but what?

Steve's low voice snapped Ryan out of his deep thought, "You don't have to do this."

Man, this guy freaked him out! His face was so hostile, yet his words were spoken with a gentle ease. Anyone this enraged should be shouting and running, but he stayed rigid, eyes searching him sternly. The guy wasn't scared, at least not for his own life! He wasn't intimidated in the least by the gun glaring at him.

"I...uh... I have to do this! He'll kill me if I don't!" Ryan once again mentally chastised himself for his fearful demeanor.

Was this guy scared... for his friends? That had to be it, or was it? He knew how he would test Steve.

Slowly, he moved the gun to his left to aim his gun at Jesse. When the young doctor stared into the barrel of it, panic seized him, and he whimpered.

Steve watched the exchange of the gun's position, momentarily stunned by this odd turn of events. Jesse's fearful cry brought him back down to earth. If Ryan had thought his eyes were mean then, Steve's eyes blazed like white fire. His jaw turned as hard as stone, and, for the first time Ryan had seen, he looked truly terrified.

So, that was it. The guy didn't care if he died; he was rather afraid for his friends. He had never seen anything like that before. If he did shoot Jesse, Steve would probably attack him, regardless of the fact that Ryan had a loaded gun.

Not feeling the urge any longer to toy with such a powerful man's emotinons, Ryan shifted the gun back to Steve. It wouldn't do to have him reach for his own gun and shoot him there.

Ryan could have sworn that Steve actually sighed in relief when the gun aimed towards his chest. It was bizarre; a man happy to be threatened with a gun. Still, Ryan couldn't help but respect the guy.

"Wh... What'd you do that for?" Jesse spoke in a small voice, still shaken.

"You... you care about him... more than you do your own self," Ryan mumbled mostly to himself.

Steve smiled a careful grin before adding, "I guess you're not used to much of that."

"I'd have been ecstatic if my own parents cared half as much about me..." Ryan trailed off sadly, staring at his sneakers.

"I know what you mean," Jesse symphathised, sighing.

"No! No you don't!" Ryan shouted, beginning to pace around nervously, and Jesse realized that he had touched an emotional soft spot.

"Oh, yeah? All my life I wanted my parents to be proud of me. I went to medical school for four years, and a main reason for that decision was to impress her. At my graduation, she made a comment about how I should have opened up a flower shop! The thing is, my parents were never there for me, and believe me, I know, it hurts. But, violence isn't the answer; it only makes things worse," Jesse related to him confidently, sympathetically.

"My parents were always gone, getting drunk. They hardly ever spoke to me," Ryan voiced his emotional scars out loud.

"You can end this. Just give it up and I'll put a good word in for you," Steve reasoned with the troubled young man.

Before he could respond to the offer, the distinct odor of smoke filtered into the small room.

"Oh, no," Steve groaned, "Fire."

The flames spread rapidly through the old, wooden building and Steve had a very good guess as to who comitted arson. John probably wanted to easily kill all three of them, no hastle. Who would think much of a dilapidated apartment building going up in flames?

Ryan turned and fled, his only thought on escaping.

Steve and Jesse, who had more sense, ducked and carefully maneuvered towards the exit; they would never get out in time had they been crawling. The entire building could be insinerated in just a couple of minutes. Choking on the black smoke that filled the air, Steve and Jesse had well-founded doubts as to whether or not they would make it out alive.

Climactic point to leave it, I know. So, what did you think? Please review!


	7. A successful escape?

Chapter 7

Thanks so much for the kind and inspiring reviews!!! Please R&R.

Choking on the black smoke that filled the air, Steve and Jesse had well-founded doubts as to whether or not they would make it out alive.

* * *

Before the friends reached the creaky old staircase, a blazing inferno surrounded them and blocked their escape. Steve backed up slowly and Jesse quickly followed his example. The heat was almost unbearable; it felt as though they were being baked in a hot oven, alive. They had to get out of here- fast.

If that wasn't enough, an monstrous creaking sounded from above. Jesse was the first one to notice it; Steve was too busy surveying the flickering flames, planning a possible escape. He glanced up and the sight horrified him; the already not sturdy roof was caving in, a large section dangerously sucked downward.

"Steve," Jesse whispered frantically, "run!"

Steve stole a quick look above and started to run blindly, Jesse flanking him. With a boisterous crack, part of the roof cascaded to the floor. Then, for the two terrified men, all went an eerie, yet peaceful, black.

* * *

Mark sat in his wooden chair, fidgeting uncontrollably. He'd just called Cheryl not long ago and he didn't want to bother her again. They had probably been done with finding clues and gotten something to eat..

The small TV in the kitchen interrupted his thoughts. It showed an ancient building engulfed in viscous flames, eating away wood... Wait a minute! The building was familiar to him... how?

"...apartment complex broke out in flames a while ago, but was not noticed until..." a young, female reporter droned out.

That was where Steve was... the apartment! They must have been trapped!

Without hardly even giving a thought as to what he was doing, he ran to the granite counter top and hastily snatched up his car keys. He was going to help Steve.

* * *

Jesse came-to with a mighty groan and realized he was underneath a pile of debris- the roof! Steve! He quickly made an attempt to sit up and push the offending material off of him. As he did so, his head started to spin and his vision got a little blurry. His skin was flicked with several splinters and cuts, but nothing major.

"Steve!" he called out rapidly, eying the ruins and the ever-present_ fire, growing to_ mammoth proportions by the second.

A stifled moan was his only reply, coming from somewhere under the rubble a few feet away.

"Hang on, Buddy," Jesse told him calmly, "I'll get you out."

Steve made a vain attempt in trying to remove the shingles and wood that lay strewn across him, but the weight proved to be too burdensome. With the assistance of Jesse, the weight was removed in good time. Jesse realized immediately, much to his dismay, that Steve's arm was bleeding- again.

"Thanks, Jess," Steve droned, wincing in pain, "Let's get out of here."

"Steve, you're bleeding. Do you know how hard I worked to put those stitches in?!" Jesse tried to lighten the atmosphere in the some, while helping Steve to his feet.

"Yes, I am. I think that board over there did a nice job of opening it back up," Steve stated sternly, whilst painfully, gradually getting to his feet. He flinched and instinctively drew his hand to cover his side protectively.

"Steve, you probably cracked a rib," Jesse voiced his concern as they gazed around for any exit.

"So I've noticed," Steve mumbled through his ragged breathing.

The blaze stood ominously, obscuring all possible exits they could see. The smoke was getting thicker, darker, and the simple task of breathing became increasingly difficult.

Then a sudden thought struck Steve. He had seen an unsafe, broken fire escape outside, hadn't he? Well, a fire escape was a fire escape.

"I have an idea. Follow me," Steve ordered softly, creeping down a hallway littered with wood fragments, flames scorching both sides. They covered their mouths with their shirts, but it didn't filter out the choking fumes very well.

Steve and Jesse neared an old windowpane, where Steve thought an exit might be. Carefully, he trudged over to it and peered out. Well, there was a fire escape but it was a few feet to the left of the window, and they were on the third story. It was risky, but better than sure death.

After an abrupt search for a tool necessary in his intended task, Steve contented himself with a large, seemingly sturdy board.

"Steve," Jesse questioned, staring incredulously at Steve and his fruitless effort of trying to lift the wood with an injured arm, "What are you doing?!"

"I need to smash this window open," he replied briskly, continuing his impossible task.

"Are you crazy?!! Why in the world would you do that?! It will just fuel the fire with more oxygen!" Jesse couldn't see any rationality to Steve's plan.

"There's a fire escape out there. It's our only plan at survival," Steve spoke evenly.

"Alright, alright! But let me do it, OK. You'll not likely get it far with an injured arm."

Steve finally, if grudgingly, gave up and let Jesse take over. After a slight struggle, he managed to pick up the bulky piece of wood. Aiming it squarely at the glass, he took off at a running, or as close to running as he could, towards the window.

A clanging shattering overpowered the taunting crackle of the forever-multiplying fire. Shards of glass soared out into the fresh air and the two got an overwhelming, yet heavenly breath of air not completely filled with smoke.

"I'll go first," Steve volunteered, walking towards the window and preparing himself for an unpleasant climb.

"But, Steve, you're hurt. I should go," Jesse protested, placing himself in between Steve and outside.

"Do you have any experience with dilapidated fire escapes and long jumps?" Steve asked sarcastically as he easily pushed past his friend.

Jesse sighed and moved out of the cop's way. He could really be stubborn sometimes!

Steve carefully lifted one leg out of the window, taking care not to rest it on any broken, jagged glass that lined the pane. He rested his foot on a thin cement ledge, bracing himself for an excruciatingly painful jump. It was now or never. With a mighty push-off, Steve made a daring dive to the left and slightly downward, towards the unstable metal escape.

He hit the metal with a loud thud and, momentarily was stunned by the pulsing fire that ran through his body. It was all he could do to stifle a yelp as he stood up. Man, his arm hurt! So did his chest.

"Steve! Are you alright?!" Jesse from asked a couple yards away, terrified for his friend.

"I'm... fine," Steve gritted out, "It's your turn."

Jesse peered even further out the window, not at all liking what he was being forced to do.

In a flash, he jumped out into the warm air and flew, for all of two seconds. He landed beside Steve with a slight thump, causing the rusty metal platform to quiver.

Jesse quickly recovered and stood up also, grasping what used to be part of a railing for support.

Jesse looked down at the distant black pavement and experienced a sudden wave of vertigo. Steve, however, glanced downward to see an extremely broken ladder leading to the ground. It didn't look like it could support even a small child.

"Uh, Jess, look," Steve spoke gravely, pointing to the practically useless metal.

Jesse, biting down the last bit of nausea, took a careful step forward and gazed at the ladder.

"Oh, no. How are we going to get down from here?" he asked, still staring at it as if looking at it would somehow fix it and make it usable.

"I have no idea. But at least it's better than being in there."

* * *

Mark drove like a madman to get to the apartment. If he had it his way, he wouldn't have obeyed any traffic laws at all. Cheryl was on her way and there were already firetrucks outside, trying to put out some of the fire before the whole building collapsed. He was going to find his son and Jesse- and he was going to find them alive, he hoped.

What did you think? Any suggestions for the next chapter? Please review!


	8. Catching a killer

Chapter 8

Thanks for the reviews. Please R&R.

Mark was going to find his son and Jesse- and he was going to find them alive, he hoped.

* * *

To the petrified men standing cautiously on the defunct heap of metal, seconds seemed like hours. Both distinctly heard the droning wail of firetrucks on the other side of buildings, could hear the urgent shouts of brave workers as they tried to save the building and its inhabitants. Neither gave even the slightest whim of being rescued a single thought; in their minds, the firetrucks simply existed to help others-not them. Steve's gruff voice broke the haziness and unreality of the situation. 

"We might have to jump," he said with no evident emotion.

"You really are crazy! We just did one of the stupidest things imaginable and you want us to jump- again?!!" Jesse exclaimed, momentarily releasing his tight grasp on the railing fragments, only to clutch it for dear life a second later.

Steve gave a mildly hurt look for his friend's uncharacteristic outburst.

"Jess, the building could collapse any minute and..." Steve reasoned softly, trailing off stupidly at the end.

"And you think we should move to safety before it does," Jesse relented. "Sorry, it's just..." It was Jesse's turn to leave the sentence hanging.

"That we're trapped on an extremely unstable fire escape of an ancient apartment building that is currently engulfed in flames and we could fall to our instant deaths at any minute. I can see why you're a little irritable," Steve offered some dark humor, managing a slight, quick grin.

"Yeah, something like that," Jesse offered, unable to restrain his horrified gaze from peering over the edge and taking in the taunting reality of their predicament.

"We could try to call for help," Steve suggested halfheartedly, frustrated to no end at not being able to do anything .

"They'd never hear us. They're too far away and they need to be saving the people inside," Jesse pointed out grimly.

Steve and Jesse lapsed into a mournful silence, each lamenting over the impending danger they faced.

* * *

When Mark parked in front of his destination, sheer terror encased him. The grizzly sight was bad enough on TV, but this was catastrophic. He tried in vain to drown out the shrill, agonized cry of mothers desperately calling out for their children, tried to ignore the evil cackling of the inferno that loomed over him. Only the increasingly imperative need of finding his son and Jesse snapped him out of his depressed fascination and the building that he gawked at. 

His frantic search began with the side of the white hot apartment complex and carried him around narrow side streets towards the uninhabited back.

* * *

Steve and Jesse were completely stunned when their crestfallen eyes fell upon an older white haired man scanning the area beneath them. While momentarily unable to move or speak in shock, they quickly regained their composure. 

"Dad!" Steve shouted loudly, urgently, from above.

Was that... Steve? Mark froze in mid-stride and hastily glanced around him, but saw not a soul. Great, now he was hearing things, all just a part of his subconscious playing cruel tricks on him.

"Dad!!" Steve tried again, a desperate plea for help.

This time, Mark was ready. He looked above him and gasped as he saw a disheveled Steve Sloan and Jesse Travis. Both were covered in debris and singed.

"Steve!! Jesse!!!" Mark greeted as a sudden wave of emotion gripped him. He was ecstatic that they were alive and outside, but they were in a pretty bad place right now, also.

"Hey, Dad," Steve called evenly.

"Hey, Mark," Jesse quivered, still immensely afraid of plummeting to his death.

"Are you OK?" Mark voiced just a tiny portion of his mammoth worry.

"I'm fine, Mark," Jesse answered, "But Steve,"

"I'll live," Steve interrupted. "Do you think you can call someone to get us down from here?"

* * *

Later that week, Amanda, Mark, and Jesse each occupied a seat around the familiar doctors' lounge, discussing the case. Steve shuffled into the room, brandishing a large stack of folders and yet another white bandage around his arm. 

"So, Steve, how does it feel to get injured in the exact same location by the exact same person?" Amanda teased.

Steve shot her an irritated glance. "A wooden beam did it, not Peter Clayton... err, John. And would you stop badgering me about it? It's not like I actually meant to be shot in my own restaurant, kidnapped, and trapped in a fire," he complained, heading over to the refreshing coffee pot and pouring himself a steaming cup. He grimaced in pain as the action sent a spike of pain through his ribs.

"Is your side still bothering you, Son?" Mark asked, looking somewhat concerned.

"A little," Steve admitted, before adding, "I'm fine, Dad."

Steve carried his mug and folders over to the soft couch and gently eased himself beside his father.

"Any word yet on Ryan, the kid I told you about, Amanda?" Steve a_sked, hoping intently that Amanda had not seen _him, which could mean he was still alive.

"I'm sorry, Steve. I found a young man matching the description you gave me. His name was Ryan Hills," Amanda told him reluctantly.

"Oh, no," Steve groaned, "He was just a kid. I don't think he was going to hurt us. He might have even turned himself and John in."

"Have you gotten any leads on Pete... I mean John?" Mark inquired.

"None. Any and all fingerprints were destroyed in the fire. This guy is good- evil, but cunning," Steve commented with understandable frustration.

"A criminal mastermind, even though he's twisted and unstable," Jesse quipped.

"Jesse, that's it!!!" Mark exclaimed happily.

Three quizzical pairs of eyes stared at Mark, silently prompting him to continue.

"That's how we catch the killer! He's unstable. He wants to finish the job, and that very thing will cause his downfall," he continued, the famous twinkle lighting up his ocean blue eyes.

"Dad, I don't follow. What are you suggesting?" Steve asked bluntly, a confused scowl showing plainly on his features.

"Where's Theresa Rumen?" Mark suddenly asked.

"Where she belongs- in jail," Steve answered plainly, even more at a loss to where this was going.

"We use her as bait. John will want to kill her. He wants to make sure everything is done perfectly. We'll trap him in the act."

"I don't know, Dad. What if she gets away? Do you really think he's stupid enough to go to jail and kill her?" Steve asked.

"Not if she, let's just say, gets hurt and ends up in the same hospital where a cop just happens to be hiding in the same room," Mark hinted.

"Are you suggesting we hurt Theresa so we can use her as bait?!!" Jesse asked, looking skeptical.

"No, but if someone convinced her that she needed to go to a hospital..." Mark reasoned, leaving the rest of them to digest his idea.

"Then she would go to the hospital and neither of them would know what was really going on!" Jesse summed up, finally catching on.

"Wouldn't it look suspicious if there wasn't a guard on her door then? And I'm sure John isn't stupid enough to go into a room that has a black-and-white posted there!" Steve argued.

"No, Steve, you don't get it. He knows there will be a guard, and he w_ill try to outsmart him or her. We can get a guard who is in on it and have them act like a real one. I'm sure John will find a way to distract any g_uard," Amanda excitedly backed Mark's theory. She was beginning to understand too.

_"Who would convince her that she's hurt?" Steve asked, not at all liking the fact that he was the only one who didn't understand. "She_ knows who you and Amanda, and Jesse are."

"She does?" Jesse asked in bewilderment, a confused frown appearing on his face briefly.

"The pictures that we found were hers. She knows all of us," Mark informed him quickly.

"Then who does the job?" Steve asked, slightly annoyed.

Outside of the lounge, Alex Martin breezed past, grasping a patient chart tightly in one hand.

Mark cracked an impish grin. "I have an idea."

* * *

"Dr. Sloan, I don't know about this," Alex protested after being ambushed and practically dragged into the doctors' lounge by Mark. 

"Oh, come on. It'll be easy. Besides, you're the only one of us who the killer doesn't know who you are," Mark pleaded, pinning Alex into an uncomfortable situation.

"Yeah, I'd go, but she wouldn't buy it and she might try to kill me or something," Jesse chimed, "Besides, I'm sure you'd be good at it. Just convince her and the guards that she might be having... just make something up."

"I'm not very good at lying," Alex admitted, adverting his eyes to the solid floor underneath him.

"You don't have to lie, exactly," Amanda assured him from her seat in an olive green chair. "Just overplay 'symptoms' and express your concern for getting her to a hospital. You don't have to actually say that something is definitely wrong with her."

"I don't know..." Alex mumbled. "It's illegal, isn't it, Steve?""I'm not here," Steve spoke softly, grinning mischievously as he sipped his coffee. "And if anyone asks, for all intensive purposes, this is just a standard police trap."

"Alright, I guess," Alex agreed slightly hesitantly, "but you owe me." He smiled playfully as he exited the room.

"Bye, Alex. And thanks," Mark called, eyes bursting with joy.Alex sighed as he trudged sown the corridors of the hospital. What had he gotten himself into? Oh, well. It was for his friends, after all.

* * *

Alex stood erect in front of the large, stark white building, mentally preparing himself for the scheme Mark had sent him to accomplish. Mumbling soft reassurances to himself, he picked himself up and sauntered into the building."Can I help you?" a hefty woman asked irritably, staring down at a massive heap of papers strewn across her desk. 

"Uh, yeah. I'm here to see Theresa Rumen," Alex explained, a little embarrassed.

The lady's corpulent face displayed a distinct grimace as she once again returned to her paperwork.

Alex uncomfortably watched her ignore him and found himself taking in the horrid sight of her wooden desk, with large potato chip bags, crumbs, and fast food wrappers littered everywhere.

"James, take this young man to cell 6A," she finally monotonically ordered a guard after getting fed up with Alex's expectant looks and mere presence.

"Uh, don't you need my name and ID or something?" Alex asked nervously.

"Technically, yes, but frankly, I don't really care," The lady snuffed, hoping intently for this guy to leave.

"Well, uh, my name's Alex Martin and I'm here on personal business," Alex added.

James didn't say a word, but gruffly motioned for Alex to follow. After murmuring a quick, undeserved thanks, Alex hastily tailed the burly guard, winding through halls of the jail to get to the right place.

As Alex briskly trotted through the corridors, a shiny thermostat caught his eye. Unnoticed, he surreptitiously reached out a hand and cranked it way up.

"Here we are, 6A," James informed him as he let Alex into the door leading to Theresa's cell .

"Who are you?!" Theresa bitterly demanded.

"Theresa, I represent..." Alex started, trying to recall what he had practiced with Steve for so long.

"I don't need no lawyer or preacher!" she fumed at him.

"Actually, I'm a doctor," he replied brightly. A little truth always helped a lie, or deception, in his case. "A friend, I believe you know him, wanted me to talk to you."

"Peter!" she cried. "Tell me, does he love me?!"

"Actually, that's why I came here," Alex spoke confidently, now more into his role, "You're looking pretty pale, you know. Are you feeling OK?"

"I'm fine. Now, tell me what you came here to tell me!!!" she ordered.

"Hold on. Don't you think it's cold in here? I mean, I'm wearing a sweater and I'm freezing!" Alex enthused, feigning concern. Man, was he hot! It felt like he was smoldering in an oven, but even so, everything was going according to plan.

"No, I'm kind of hot," she admitted, a little nervous.

"Hot! Oh, no. This is not good. I've seen lots of patients with fever like this," Alex made a very convincing show.

"You, think I have something?" Theresa asked starting to get truly worried.

"It's very possible that someone exhibiting this kind of fever and symptoms needs to be hospitalized."

"Are... Are you sure?" she quivered.

"Guard! Guard!"

* * *

"How did you do it?!" Mark asked Alex excitedly from the doctors' lounge after Theresa had unofficially been given a private room. 

"Yeah, she was truly convinced she was suffering from fever, being hot, then being really cold," Jesse added cheerfully.

"Nothing too illegal, I hope," Steve commented wryly more to himself than to anyone else.

"Well, a really incompetent secretary and guard let me get in without an questions or ID," Alex proceeded to give a recall of what had happened.

"What?!!" Steve asked incredulously.

"Anyway, I turned up the thermostat really high and pretended to be cold. Obviously, we were both burning up, but she thought it was just her. When she got out of the building, she was cold because she didn't have a jacket," Alex summed up.

"Now, to wait and catch the bad guy!" Jesse declared.

* * *

John stood outside in the mammoth parking lot of CGH. He had information that his old accomplice had been brought to the hospital. This was his chance to finish the job, and he would; he was sure about that. 

**TO BE CONTINUED**


	9. A Peculiar Twist

Chapter 9

I finally found the time to update! A reference to Carter Sweeney was made, so one part might be a little confusing if you didn't watch Obsession or Resurrection. Thanks so much for the reviews. Please R&R.

* * *

This was his chance to finish the job, and he would; he was sure about that.

John smirked, replaying exactly his course of action. A few people silently walked passed him, staring in disgust and the absurdity of John's bizarre pose. He was hunched over, sweaty palms clasped in each other; his evil, crazy scowl contributed in making him look more like a madman than he already was. He really did look like a twisted hunchback taken right out of a movie.

Slightly embarrassed when mothers hastily led their children way around him, blocking their children's views, John erected himself and advanced into Community General Hospital.

Once again, he relied on a receptionist to lead him to his victim. Hoping she wouldn't be as annoying as the last one, John strode up to the large reception desk.

"What room is Theresa Rumen in?" he asked bluntly, acting as if he had every right to be there.

"Uh, she's in a private room... 104," a young, blond lady replied sweetly. Unbeknown to John, she had been informed of John and Mark's plan.

John winked at her and strolled confidently to the room in which he was directed.

As soon as the murderer was out of sight, the receptionist frantically picked up a telephone and dialed Mark.

"Dr. Sloan... This is Katie, a really weird guy walked up here and wanted to know where Theresa was. I told him room 104. You better get down there, now,"

* * *

As soon as Steve heard Mark's warning, he practically raced down the halls to get to the correct room. He hadn't imagined that John would find out so incredibly quickly. It was a good thing that he was already in the hospital, even if it did ruin his cafeteria lunch plans.

Nearly out of breath, he quietly passed the guard and stealthily sneaked into the room. Slowly, he neared a rather large wooden cabinet and gently opened one of the huge, sturdy doors. It had been placed in the room exclusively for the purpose of hiding, and it made the room look more like a bedroom than a hospital room. Still, it served its purpose, even if Steve did have to cram himself into a ball to fit inside.

Theresa was still asleep from the sedative she'd been given. Even though she had agreed to be taken into the hospital, when she'd seen Mark, Theresa had literally gone nuts. Now, she was sleeping peacefully, completely oblivious to Steve's presence or the danger which she faced from John.

Steve once again checked his holster for his precious gun. The plan would be thwarted if he didn't have it. Steve couldn't subdue a homicidal maniac with his bare hands.

After drawn out years to the cramped Steve, and not more than a couple minutes of actual time, a single gunshot rang throughout the hospital. It was close. Steve groaned. This was not how it was supposed to go.

* * *

John swiftly laid the gun he had recently fired on the floor and discarded a baseball cap he had found in the trash, just to plant some evidence. That would certainly get the guard's attention. John was a little disappointed that he had fired a gun without the satisfaction of watching anyone suffer, or without even the joy of knowing he had caused someone to die. Oh, well. That pleasure would come soon enough, in multiple ways. After Theresa was dead, it was the last remaining Sloan, other family and friends, Smithsone's daughter, the friend, Valentine, and then the back-stabber herself. Then, it would be his turn to die, but not until Smithsone got to see what her actions had caused. She would suffer. If she couldn't be his, she would just simply have to die. And so would her family, only first.

He was so caught up in his musings that he almost forgot to make his next move and seize advantage of the uniform's absence.

John darted to the proper room and, just like last time, revealed a long syringe from a deep pocket. Slowly, his pasty hand raised the offending object. It crept closer and closer to the target, and John's eyes filled with insane excitement. Any and all sanity he had possessed before, left him completely.

Steve, in his little space, sized up the scene before him through a tiny peephole. In a flash, he bolted from the compartment and instantly had his revolver pinned on John's chest.

"Freeze, John! It's over!" Steve shouted much more loudly than necessary.

In absolute shock, John stumbled backwards blindly.

"H.. Ho... You're supposed to be dead!!! You and that Travis kid! And I even set fire to it to make sure..." John stuttered helplessly, being completely taken by surprise.

"Never underestimate me," Steve responded coolly as he inched nearer to the killer. "Drop it,"

In what Steve mistook for obedience, John let the needle drop to the floor with a slight plunk.

Just then, Mark, Jesse, and Alex ambled in through the door, all grinning widely.

"Hello, John," Mark simply addressed the man, "I guess our plan worked pretty well."

"And, just for your peace of mind, Theresa's absolutely fine. She can go back to jail as soon as she wakes up from the sedative and she also can and probably will testify against you in court," Jesse smugly summed up.

"Oh, and, Ally and Sam say hi, err, bye!" Alex tantalized John even further.

Finally, the daunting hunt for the killer was over. This was the end and finally the girls could live normal lives without fear of a lunatic stalking them. This was one of the most challenging cases of the year and the Sloans and friends were glad that it was indeed over.

Much to everyone's dismay, John smiled. It was a strange, psychotic smirk that sent chills through the occupants of the room.

John reached once again into his pocket and gingerly pulled out a small, silver cell phone. Steve started to squeeze the trigger on his own gun and stopped when he saw what his would-be- assailant's weapon of choice.

Mark, Jesse, and Alex exchanged confused, yet amused glances. This guy really was unstable!

"What, do you want to make a last phone call?" Steve taunted sarcastically.

"Exactly," John replied, voice dripping with an insane evil. "I would suggest that you put the gun down, now, Sloan. I can press one button and your precious beach house, complete with those little brats, their parents' cruise ship, and this hospital will explode into a million pieces."

Steve's, as well as his father's and friends', jaws dropped to the floor. All four were temporarily stunned from this new revelation.

Steve was the first to recover. "Like you really have bombs in all of those places."

"Who is underestimating who?" John inquired, his scrawny index finger buzzing around a button in the middle of the phone.

"If you blow up the hospital, you'll die," Steve continued, needing desperately to buy time.

"Of course, Oh Bright One," John mocked, "But I'll have finished my destiny. You and all your friends will be killed, Smithsone's daughter, her friend, Smithsone and all her friends and family. I see no reason to stay alive after that has been fulfilled."

"Does your destiny include killing hundreds of innocent people?!" Steve all but screamed.

"Yes, that's why I have many cell phone detonated bombs planted in different locations throughout the hospital, near your home, and in the middle of the Pacific Ocean."

"What do you want?" Mark asked, beginning to come out of his trance-like state.

"What do I want? Well there's an interesting question," John answered, feigning thoughtfulness.

"So just make a ransom list," Jesse prompted softly. He was still considerably pale from fear of this man, not to mention his and his friends' lives.

"I want you all dead. I want to finish the plan," John gritted out.

Steve thought to consider the scenario he found himself in, momentarily blocking out all noise and scenery around him. It was if this was some horrible nightmare in which he would soon awake. This was absolutely not how it was supposed to turn out. Were there really any bombs at all? It could just be a last-minute attempt to save himself. Yet, there was something about John's demeanor that told him this was real. Something in his willpower, in the crazy eyes he found himself gazing into.

John's mind was racing every bit as fast as Steve's. Wow. This really had worked. The bombs were real, there was no doubt about that. Still, he had not meant to use them now. Sloan and Travis were supposed to be dead. He was supposed to kill Theresa in person, then get out of the hospital and blow it up, followed by the Sloan house. He really had wanted to kill Valentine and especially Smithsone in person. He wanted to talk to her one last time, to let her know why all this was happening. He wanted her to suffer. The bomb on her ship had taken a lot of pulling strings with old accomplices and was just in case he couldn't make it in person. Either way, if this was his only choice, he would do it.

Jesse and Alex remained completely motionless, except for the small task of breathing. Both were completely petrified. It was supposed to have been a simple arrest. When had it turned so rotten? All of them had expected much less of him than they should have, and now, they were scared not only of losing their own lives, but the friends they had become so close to. Never had either been so scared of such an innocent-looking cell phone, yet both were drawn to it; neither could take their eyes off of the weapon that had the ability to destroy.

Mark felt as though the exact same thing had happened before. This man was so much like Carter Sweeney that it scared him. Both were incredibly intelligent and fast-thinking. Both were filled with pure evil, and both refused to give up on the destruction they longed to continue. Mark had severely underestimated both, and that was a reason they were in this predicament right now. Hopefully, they would stop him before the hospital got blown up- again. John was certainly crazier than Carter had been. Maybe they could put and end to this before more innocent people died. And maybe this was the end for them all.


	10. A Grueling Capture

Chapter 10

Sorry for the long wait. Thanks for the reviews. Please R&R.

Maybe they could put and end to this before more innocent people died. And maybe this was the end for them all.

* * *

Mark reverently studied the little cell phone in awe, a daring, somewhat crazy plan forming in his keen mind. He detached himself from the terrible situation that could kill him and the ones he cared about most. After a relatively short period of vaguely watching John pace nervously with the detonator clutched tightly in hand, Mark's eyes lit up with radiance that signaled an idea.

"Alright, fine you win," Mark admitted softly, gaze drifting to the floor in a sulking manner. "Please, just don't kill me and my son. Ally and Sam are not at the beach house. I'll tell you where they are; just let us out of here if you must blow the hospital up."

The three other sane inhabitants of the room looked up and gawked at Mark, confusion,and disbelief flooding their expressions.

Steve was horrified that his father would even think of something like that. Didn't he know that John would use Mark to kill the girls and them, no matter what deals were made? Murderers like John couldn't be trusted. What was his father thinking?!

Mark once again took time to consider his plan. It was risky, extremely risky, and John could blow everyone up at a moment's notice. He hoped he wouldn't have to carry it out completely. Mostly, it was a desperate scheme to buy time. The door to the hospital room was cracked open. John really had gotten sloppy. Why wasn't the door closed, locked, and barricaded? Mark was immeasurably thankful for this; hopefully one of the nurses would see the situation and contact the police before anything really terrible unfolded.

John hastily glanced at Mark in surprise, then gazed at him skeptically. After noting the older man's apparent depression, the mistrust vanished and he cracked a wicked grin.

"I knew you'd come to your senses, Doctor. Now, where are the girls?" John inquired with some irritation.

Mark met John's expectant look with melancholy eyes, before turning to a very distraught Steve and winking. Jesse and Alex also caught the subtle hint, although they couldn't even begin to fathom what Mark was up to.

* * *

Cheryl waited in her crimson sports car near the entrance of the hospital, impatiently searching for Steve about every ten seconds. Where was he?! He was supposed to come out with that John character fifteen minutes ago! Not one to sit around and do nothing, she finally climbed out of her vehicle, locked it, and stormed into Community General, grumbling as she went.

Inside, the building was a beehive of activity. Nurses, doctors, and other staff trotted around, some barking orders, others fastidiously carrying them out. Cheryl, knowing exactly where she was going, ignored them and sauntered towards the large silver elevators and pressed the round white button to go up. If Steve gave John to a uniform and was having a coffee break or something while she was sitting there worried sick, he was going to pay.

Cheryl strode into the boxlike area when the elevator reached the main level, receiving a blank stare from what she guessed was a visitor with a nasty cold. She thought about trying to hold her breath to prevent against infection, but decided that would look rather rude and that she probably didn't have the lung capacity to deny herself oxygen for the entire ride. If Steve was doing _anything_ other than catching that guy, and she got another horrible cold, he would wish that he had a different partner.

After what felt like decades of enduring constant wheezing and uncovered sneezes, she reached the correct floor and dashed out of the contaminated elevator. She straightened her back and angrily advanced to Theresa Rumen's room.

Cheryl peered into the space through a small opening in the door, exasperated eyes searching for any person. Mark, Steve, Jesse, and Alex stood completely motionless, faces ashen and very, very frightened. John was holding what looked like a cell phone in his sweaty hand and chuckling maniacally. How could a cell phone keep them so subdued, unless it was... the trigger for a bomb. The heinous scene before her caused her to inhale a sharp intake of air and stumble backwards in shock. This was_ not_ supposed to happen.

Cheryl tentatively retreated further, whipped out her cell phone with superhuman speed and proceeded to dial for backup, hoping her friends wouldn't in any way be harmed.

* * *

"Let me get this straight," John fumed at Mark, "you want me to just let you go?! That's not part of the plan! You could tell the police... You are the police!!"

"Why is the plan so important to you?" Mark asked evenly, meeting the madman's hysterical glare.

"It... it just is!! Leave me alone; j.. just leave me alone!" John stuttered angrily, pacing nervously around the small room. Shiny droplets of perspiration cascaded from his face, and his hands were soaked in sweat.

Mark was satisfied with his progress. He had made their captor nervous, sloppy. Hopefully, Mark could convince him to let them out by pretending to show John where Sam and Ally were. Then, someone would be bound to find them, or Mark could tackle John in a car and crash the car into something. Either way, he was convinced that they would get out of the hospital and found by the police- alive.

Mark stood facing the clean white wall and the door, which was still stupidly ajar, while Steve studied John for the right moment to pounce, and Alex and Jesse stared blindly at a spot on the floor. John himself, back facing the door, was ambling from one corner of the room to the other, then repeating the motion.

Mark's mind flew into full speed when he thought he spied something near the door. Squinting for a better view, he was able to make out a distinguishable pair of eyes. They'd been spotted! They were saved!

* * *

Cheryl allowed herself one last peek at the situation unfolding inside and was incredibly elated to find that John was not facing her way. Then she locked ayes with the dismal, frightened eyes of Mark Sloan. She knew that he had seen her; maybe he could help buy more time until backup arrived. And she still was not completely certain of the details of the hostage situation.

* * *

"Why, tell me again, why are you doing this? Why are you trying to blow up the hospital, my house, and the ship the girls' parents are on?" Mark asked with conviction, secretly relaying exactly what was going on to whoever was watching.

"Valentine chose Smithsone over me! It... It's the plan, so just shut up!!" John replied testily, with more fear appearing in his voice after every word.

* * *

Cheryl once again found herself drawing in an acute breath out of shock. She had no idea it was that bad! Did that guy really have bombs in the hospital, the Beach House, and a ship?! She would need to call the bomb squad and maybe ask for a sharpshooter in case anything went horribly wrong, although she hoped it wouldn't come down to that. Cheryl couldn't very well order an evacuation of the entire hospital just because some nut with a cellphone said there was a bomb. She would just have to stop this guy before things got out of hand.

* * *

"Look, John, you don't have to do this," Mark feigned sympathy in any last attempt to get him an a tangent so the police could stop this.

"I said, shut up old man!" John rebutted, boldly striding up to Mark and giving him a shove.

Steve, biting down an incredible urge to sock the guy right in the face, glared at John. "Leave my father alone or I'll redefine the term of using 'excessive force'" he growled.

"And what are you going to do about it, Hotshot?" John asked sweetly, now walking over to the lieutenant and sending a flying foot into Steve's gut.

* * *

Cheryl was watching the whole scene. This was getting bad. She was dreading it, but it looked like this wasn't going to be resolved in any peaceful way. Her backup hadn't arrived yet. What was taking them so long?! Cheryl gripped her gun protectively, ready to assist in the situation at a moment's notice.

* * *

Steve gasped, partly in pain, partly in shock, and drew back a little, wondering if he would get a chance for a surprise attack.

Mark also had witnessed Steve's reward for defending him and was now boiling with rage. He knew it was futile to say anything and that there was no way he could physically take on a man of that size.

Amanda, Jesse, and Alex were horrified and resisted the desire to say something, anything. They stood perfectly rigid, just staring at Steve and John. Not one of them could stand watching their friend get hurt right in front of them, but there was absolutely nothing they could do to help Steve.

John, satisfied with the grimace of pain and the enraged expression Steve was exhibiting, decided to attack again. He once again drew his foot back and swung with full force at Steve's ribcage.

Steve, refusing to take any more abuse without retaliation, let his police training kick in. He neatly and easily dodged the blow, sliding out of the way at the last second. Then, Steve's hand shot out with exact precision and caught John's left hand, the fingers of it grasping at the phone. This was Steve's chance; if he blew it, they could all be killed.

John was stunned that Steve had dodged and now was holding him. In a fit of anger, he tried in vain to press the right button on the phone to end this and finish the plan. Steve hadn't missed the frantic move and swiftly twisted John's wrist, causing him to drop the phone with a thud.

John scrambled to the floor to reach his weapon, but Steve wasn't about to let that happen. He caught his own foot around John's and tripped him from a kneeling position to being sprawled out on the floor. Then, seizing the opportunity, Steve leaped onto John's back, futilely trying to pin him down. John's hand was inching closer and closer to the detonator.

It was then that Steve and John noticed Cheryl's presence. "Freeze! Don't even think about trying to reach for the phone!" she demanded positioning her gun the best she could at the wiggling mass of arms and legs without the chance of getting Steve in the line of fire.

Cheryl advanced and quickly scooped up the phone, placing it gently in her coat pocket. Now convinced that John was no longer a threat, she re-holstered her gun and prepared to help Steve get the lunatic under control.

With a sudden burst of unexpected energy, John flung Steve off of him and right on top of a very startled Cheryl. John stood quickly and darted out of the room, whilst Mark stared in awe, Amanda gazed around panicked, and Alex took in the series of events shocked, unmoving. Jesse debated whether or not to pursue John, but decided against it, knowing he would likely get himself killed, either by Steve or John himself.

Steve was the first to recover, soon followed by his partner. Each dashed after the fleeing man, praying he wouldn't get away when they were so close. They ran into a fork in the corridors of the hospital, having lost John's trail. Cheryl went left, and Steve right.

Steve raced through the hall, ignoring the disturbed patients and guests who practically jumped out of his wild path and their sharp looks and curses. They weren't important right now. The only thing that mattered was catching this insane killer.

Steve's keen eyes spotted his target as John escaped via the emergency staircase. The detective picked up his speed considerably in pursuit. He flashed by a nurses' station and swung the heavy door open that separated him from the stairs John was running down. Steve all but rolled down the flights in haste to make his arrest; he was speedily filling the gap between him and John.

Steve wouldn't underestimate this guy again; he was ready to go to great steaks to catch John. Dreading the searing pain of what his next action would most certainly bring, Steve tackled John while they were both racing down the stairs.

The action sent them both tumbling down the remainder of the hard cement steps and into a heap on the floor. Steve managed to control John to some extent and have him pinned to the floor.

The tireless John once again sprang up and this time threw a powerful punch at Steve's eye, sending him flying into the wall behind him.

Steve quickly got back on his feet and pounced on John. John somehow managed a mighty kick to Steve's ribs. Steve twisted John's arm into an extremely painful grip, causing John to let out a sharp yelp of agony.

In the midst of their drawn out, pained fight on the ground on the stairwell of the building's first story, Cheryl burst into the stairwell. The door hit the large struggling ball and two grunts of pain came from multi-appendaged form.

Startled, Cheryl drew her gun and then realized that the ball was actually Steve and the madman they were arresting. Cheryl raced over to assist, roughly dragging John off of Steve and pushing him against a wall. After padding him down for weapons, she swiftly cuffed him, recited to him his rights, and went over to help Steve.

"Hey," she greeted softly, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Steve gritted through his teeth, his hand going up to stop the bleeding of several cuts of his face. "Man that guy is tough."

* * *

Steve sat on the large couch in the doctors' lounge, a few stitches on one of the gashes on his forehead, and holding an icepack to his left eye.

"Well, Mark, your plan did work, but you should have had backup there. It could have ended a lot differently," Cheryl said from her seat on one of the lounge chairs.

"Yeah, I'm just glad nobody was seriously injured and nothing was blown up," Mark agreed thoughtfully.

"Did they actually find any bombs?" Jesse inquired, sipping tasteless coffee from his blue mug.

"Well, there was a pretty good sized bomb found and successfully deactivated in the hospital, so he wasn't lying. There was a small bomb found on the beach, in a portable cooler, near Mark's house, and we don't know yet about the boat," Cheryl answered smoothly.

"I don't understand why he didn't set the bomb off earlier when he had the chance," Alex piped up from the corner where he was pouring himself another cup of coffee.

"That's because the cell phone wasn't set up the way he thought it was. I imagine he was pretty scared when he realized the button that was supposed to set off a bomb didn't work," Cheryl summed up.

"But if he would have pressed the right combination, we'd all be dead?" Steve asked plainly.

"Basically, yes," Cheryl replied frankly.

Mark let out a low whistle. "So he did try to kill us but made it look like he was waiting for something since his trigger didn't work," he repeated mostly to himself.

"Well I'm just glad he's behind bars," Steve declared.

"Hey, Steve, since you don't really have any more competition, do you plan to do anything with Teresa? It'll be awfully hard to have a serious relationship with her being in prison and you a cop, though," Jesse blissfully changed the subject.

Jesse couldn't quite dodge the big yellow pillow expertly thrown at his head.

"Ha, ha. You know, not all the women I've dated were crazy, psychotic killers," Steve stated defensively.

"Oh, yeah. Some of them were murdered, some we..." Jesse trailed off as yet another pillow hit him square in the face. "Would you stop that?!"

"OK, that's enough, children," Mark jokingly reprimanded.

At that moment, Amanda came bustling into the lounge carrying a small slip of paper.

"You'll never guess what I just found," Amanda announced cheerfully.

"A check for a million dollars?" Jesse interjected.

"A note from John. It was in a dumpster right outside of the hospital. It was supposed to be found after the hospital was blown up," Amanda explained.

"Wait a minute," Steve interrupted, "You found it in a _dumpster_?! Why were you looking in a dumpster?"

"Well, I was kind of looking for an earing I think fell into a trashcan. I went to see if it was in the dumpster, but it was empty, except for the note."

"So what would you have done if it wasn't empty: dug through the trash?" Steve asked skeptically, still incapable of picturing a self-respecting woman like her scrounging through garbage.

"C.J. Made it for me. It was really important to him and I wanted to find it," Amanda admitted, blushing slightly.

"Oh," Steve spoke quietly, now embarrassed for his nosy behavior.

"Well, come on, read the note," Mark prompted eagerly.

"OK, it says, 'Dear anyone who found this note. How did it feel to have your precious hospital blown to smithereens? Or about losing the great Detective Sloans? Well, I guess you can put me down as a serial killer now. I'll kill a few more people before my final kill. Feels good, you know. Catch me if you can, but remember, my power. Ha. Ha. Gotcha.'"

Steve smiled to himself, as did everyone else in the room. Gotcha, he thought with satisfaction, before rising to go back to work on yet another grueling murder case.

**The End (I think)**


End file.
